


Say You'll Haunt Me

by ZombieliciousXIII



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Falsely Accused Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Psychiatrist Tony Stark, Rating May Change, Smut, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, There are lots of character cameos, Threesome - M/M/M, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24108226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieliciousXIII/pseuds/ZombieliciousXIII
Summary: Psychiatrist Anthony Stark works for SHIELD’s Institute for the Criminally Insane. He's always been good at his job, dedicated to helping his patients as best as his abilities would allow. However, Tony's willingness to help is taken to a whole new extreme after taking on the case of James Barnes.The doctor had simply wanted to help and now finds himself entrenched in a political coverup, an accomplice to a murderer, and on the run from hired killers.And to make it all the worse, throughout all this, Tony knew he'd fallen hard and fast for the patient he was supposed to help. A patient with a boyfriend that loved him dearly. A patient that was charged with murder.~~~~~On momentary hiatus, sorry!!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 99





	1. Call Me Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you all enjoy my first dive into Stuckony - or Starkbucks, as I prefer calling it haha!  
> The story's title is from Stone Sour's song by the same name and gave a heavy influence to this idea becoming a full-fledged plot, so be sure to check it out! And, for total transparency's sake, it was the song combined with seeing RDJ's character in Gothika that kicked started this baby. Mediocre movie in all honesty, but I just loved the concept of Psychiatrist!Tony Stark haha!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!!

Psychiatrist Anthony Stark sits back in his seat, fingers entwined and rested atop his thigh as he stares back at the patient across from him. Storm-grey eyes hold his gaze in turn, while the man they belong to slouches in his seat and leans his forearms upon his thighs to remain upright. His gaze is unrelenting but tired. Ringed with a kind of darkness that spoke of sleepless nights and an all-consuming sadness that Tony would never really grow used to seeing in his patients. They were, at times, eyes that the doctor would think of on nights when he too could not sleep. He’d been treating James Barnes for a little over a month now. Though perhaps, the actual attempt at treatment was only really going on for the past two sessions.

When Tony had first taken on Barnes’s case, he’d gotten next to nothing out of the young man. During every one of the young man’s weekly sessions, Stark felt like he was pulling teeth to get a single syllable out of Barnes. By their fourth session, he’d worried if he was just wasting both their time and should find Barnes another psychiatrist. One he might feel more comfortable opening up to, as it appeared Tony wasn’t any positive influence on his patient. At least, until that was no longer the case. It started during their sixth session together, while Tony had been going over their last - strained - conversation when Barnes huffed and sat back in his chair. Tony remembers the way the young man’s head tilted, watching him for a moment with an unfamiliar but _lively_ spark in his bright eyes. “ _You really do care about your patients, don’t you?”_ It hadn’t been a question, not really. But it was the start of something Tony had begun losing hope in ever achieving with his patient.

From then on, their sessions had been…more welcoming in an odd sense. The conversations between them flowing easier with each meeting. Tony had been elated, finally managing to make progress with Barnes. He’d felt like he was beginning to _understand_ Barnes more with each session. It was a little unsettling at times, how much he enjoyed their interactions. It was why seeing Barnes’s state today put Tony on edge. It was as his analytical mind that zeroed in on the man’s sharp jawline before he’d even sat down, and the closer his patient got, the harder Tony fought to maintain the smile on his face. To remain placid enough to keep Barnes from closing off before they’d even begun. It wasn’t the darkened stubble, but the darker-than-natural blooming of a bruise beneath it that raised Tony’s concerns. It was clear that Barnes had been harmed, but the true question was had it been done by his own hand? Or the hand of another?

“So, James,” Tony starts, leaning forward in his seat slightly, body language open and attentive. “Last time we spoke, you were telling me about the night-”

“The night that landed me in this joint, right?”

Tony was slightly taken aback. Trying to get James to speak of the night that lead to his incarceration at SHIELD’s Institute for the Criminally Insane usually failed. Normally when Tony would broach the topic, Barnes would bristle and Tony would steer the conversation into more neutral - safer - waters. The most Tony usually hoped to get was an indifferent shrug or hum in response, but never an outright offering to speak on the subject. He hoped it was progress on the young man’s part, and smiled encouragingly at the brunet.

“Yeah, that night,” Tony answers without hesitation and fought off his eagerness. It wouldn’t do to spook the man now and tries to grab onto the moment before Barnes withdrew again. “Have you had any new recollections since our last meeting?”

“I’ll tell you what I remember,” Barnes starts, tilting his head the same way he’d done before their dynamic had changed. _A tick of his, perhaps,_ Tony mentally notes but doesn’t dare write it down lest he break the moment. “On one condition.”

Tony raises a brow, “and what would that be?”

“That you call me Bucky.”

Tony knew of the patient’s nickname, usually hearing it from orderlies or other patients but never used the name himself. It had been a conscious choice of his if he was being honest with himself. Wanting to maintain that boundary until Barnes felt comfortable crossing it, rather than assume. It was a gesture of good faith on Tony’s part, a silent agreement of ‘I won’t use it unless you want me to.’ The aim had been to help Barnes understand Tony wouldn’t try to cross any boundaries he didn’t want crossing in the hopes of building trust between them.

“Alright, deal,” the doctor acquiesces after a moment of apparent consideration and smiles slightly at the taller man. “So what do you remember from that night, Bucky?”

James - no, _Bucky -_ grins at Tony in a way he had never seen directed at anyone but Rogers, as though the expression was somehow exclusively reserved for the blond - or so he believed. He’d never actually _seen_ the famous Steve Rogers that Bucky talked about, nothing more than the back of a blond head, anyway. But that grin? _That_ Tony had only ever seen when Bucky was speaking of him during their sessions. It was something fond, reverent almost. And seeing it directed at _him_ made Tony’s throat constrict ever so slightly, though he couldn’t nail down why. Bucky leans forward in his seat. The slouch not really leaving, but the lines of tension that pull taught at his shoulders - while minute - are evident to Tony. His easy grin from moments ago now slightly strained as he looks down at his hands. Though after a lull of silence, Bucky sighs before his expression drops altogether. Whatever pretense he’d tried to garner fails him, but the man keeps to his word and pushes on regardless.

“It’s hazy, even the bits and pieces when I _could_ see. It was like looking through…a _fog,_ or somethin’,” Bucky looks back up at Tony, wrists falling limp between his knees. “I really am tryin’ doc, for myself if nothin’ else but…it’s just…it’s fuckin’ _blank.”_

Tony nods in understanding, this time taking down notes on the information learned. As minimal as it may be, it was still something. Memory loss during psychotic breaks aren’t unheard of, but something about the way Bucky seems to have trouble remembering _any_ of the events. While trauma was a fickle beast, something about Bucky’s fragmented memory seemed… _off_ somehow. Tony knows, professionally, that no one patient is the same as another. But _something_ about Barnes just doesn’t line up with anything Tony’s seen in past patients or case studies. Bucky has been nothing but compliant since his admission to the institute, non-violent to a point Tony witnessed how the orderlies are a bit laxer handling him.

The man had puzzled Tony since their first meeting, in all honesty. Most patients were violent in their denials or _sicking_ in the pride of their crimes. But Barnes didn’t display any of the usual tells of the criminally insane - anxious and depressed? Definitely. But psychotic? Tony wasn’t even _close_ to sure. His training told him that maybe he might simply be better at concealing his insanity, but there’s another part of him, a part he only entertains in the privacy of his own head that says there’s more going on than meets the eye. Sure, patients that suffered violent episodes could be of seemingly sound-mind after the fact, but something in his gut kept trying to convince him that wasn’t the case. Not this time. But that wasn’t his decision to make, was it? Bucky was here, and Bucky was his patient. Tony couldn’t change what lead him here.

“There are treatments we can look into, ones that could maybe help with the memory loss-”

“Let me guess, _more_ drugs?” Bucky chuckles but it’s an unamused sound, jaw taut as he speaks.

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of hypnotherapy,” at that Bucky looks at him, curious.

“You’re serious?”

“I don’t see why not, it’s been known to help some patients. I can’t promise it’ll work, though,” if he wanted to move forward with Bucky, he knew he’d have to be forthcoming about their chances with this. _No reason to give him false hope._ “It’s kind of a hit or miss thing if I’m being honest. But you wouldn’t have to take any more meds, and we might get some answers. And even if we don’t, at least we tried. What do you say?”

Barnes seems to consider it for a moment, then slowly nods, “okay, fine. Let's try it.”

Tony’s attention flicks down to the notepad on his lap, jotting down the idea and a reminder to set up his office accordingly for their next session. Turning his attention back to Bucky- _shit!_ Tony considers it a personal win that he doesn’t _jump out of his skin_ at how close Bucky is to him. The man was bigger than himself, stronger too and it wouldn’t take much for him to hurt Tony. Though there was a comfort in knowing the panic button was just beneath his desk if he needed it. Patients were violent at times, it came with the territory of his job. But this didn’t feel…dangerous, not to Tony anyway. He’s handled violent patients, but the look in Bucky’s eyes weren’t those of ill intent.

So he simply meets his patient’s storm-grey gaze unflinchingly. _Is this a test?_ He thinks in passing, watching the man who watches him in turn. Bucky is leaning over Tony’s desk, but his hands remain at the edge of it. Belatedly, Tony realizes he’d _wanted_ to scare Tony. Wanted to see how he’d react to the invasion. Perhaps he really _was_ testing him, maybe to see how far Tony’s olive branch really extended or if it was just a farce. To an extent, Tony couldn’t blame his patient. It was clear that Bucky had trust issues with authority figures, and if he needed to do this to settle something inside himself…well, Tony was okay with that.

Neither speaks as Barnes simply looks over Tony’s features. Something warm roils in his stomach at being assessed by the man, but he remains still all the same. Whatever Bucky is looking for is seemingly found when the brunet smiles, relaxed and - if he’s being honest with himself - flirtatiously at Tony. Bucky bends at the waist to rest his forearms down upon the desk,and stares up at Tony through his lashes. _He really is close, isn’t he?_

“You have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen,” Bucky honest to God _purrs,_ and Tony silently curses himself for the way he swallows when it sounds so _loud_ in the silence of his office. “I never thought anyone could beat Stevie’s…guess I was wrong.”

Tony’s mouth feels dry, rather suddenly. He tells himself it’s because the statements were _extremely_ unexpected, and tacks on that hadn’t drunk water at any point today. _He just caught me off guard is all,_ “want to tell me how you got that bruise?”

Something flashes across Bucky’s eyes, anger maybe. His expression falters, but only for a split-second. Whatever he’d seen is gone just as fast as Tony sees it appear, and is replaced with another flirtatious smirk. Though this time it’s more strained, less real.

“Pissed off an orderly,” he says as though it’s nothing, moving to stand and sit back in his chair across Tony’s desk.

“Who was it?” Tony asks and tries not to sound as desperately demanding as he feels. But if Bucky had started a fight with an orderly, it would have been reported.

“Why do you care?” He almost sounds like a petulant child when he says it, damn near pouting like it too.

“Bucky, if you fought an orderly it would have been reported to me. And since I don’t see any new papers on my desk, I’m assuming it _wasn’t_ reported which means someone here has been _abusing_ their authority-”

“You didn’t answer my question, doc,” Bucky interrupts, eyeing Tony from his seat. Yet again his eyes searching Tony’s face for something, _searching my eyes_ , he thinks. “Why do you _care?”_

“Because you’re my patient Bucky, _of_ _course,_ I care,” Tony answers on impulse, feeling slightly indignant if he’s being honest. Perhaps more than a proper professional should be.

“Wade’s your patient and so are many others,” Bucky says, still watching Tony with an intent he can’t even begin to fathom the reasoning for, “why do you care so much about _one_ patient out of the _hundreds_ you treat?”

The question catches Tony off guard, like so many things Bucky is seemingly _aiming_ to do this session. It takes him a moment to answer. Despite the clear violation of rules on the orderly’s part, Tony would admit to himself he was a little more invested in Bucky’s case than a proper psychiatrist should be. Barnes quirks a brow at him, prompting him to go on, and Tony can’t help himself when the truth spills from his lips. _If I want to see progress, honesty really is the best policy here._

“Because there’s something different about you and your case and I’m struggling to figure out what, exactly, it is,” Tony starts, watching Bucky for a moment before continuing. Despite his professionalism railing against him as he does, “and I intend to find out what it is. So until I do, you’re under my care here and I _won’t_ have orderlies abusing my patients. _Any_ of my patients.”

Bucky seems taken aback by his answer, and a small childish part of Tony is pleased by it. Pleased at finally being able to catch _Bucky_ off guard, like he’d done to him so many times in the past hour alone. However, before the brunet can answer there’s a knock at the office door. Tony looks over to the clock on his wall and sighs. Their session was over before it even seemingly even begun. The two move to stand as Tony tells the orderly, “we’ll be just a moment.”

Walking over to Bucky the patient trails behind his doctor until they reach the office door. With the thought of the marking on Bucky’s face still lingering in his mind, Tony turns and all but runs into the firm wall that is Barnes’ chest. _He’s built like a brick house, Christ._

“You okay there, darlin’?” The brunet asks as he grins down at Tony, his hands having moved to the man’s waist to steady him. If Tony feels his stomach twist at the endearment, well, that was for him and him alone to know.

“Bucky, please, who hurt you?” Tony whispers, not wanting to be overheard by the orderly just outside his door.

“Dr. Stark, is the patient ready to go?” He hears orderly Bowman call out from behind the door. Tony is about to ask for another minute when Bucky shakes his head, his hands squeezing Tony’s sides ever so slightly before pulling back.

“I’m okay doc’,” Bucky’s gaze lingers on Tony’s face, like there’s more he wants to say but settles on, “don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

Before Tony can object, Barnes already opened the door to his office and greeting the orderly there.

 _I can at least do this,_ Tony thinks as he stops Carl before they head off and asks him to take Bucky to the infirmary. Orderly Bowman agrees, despite Bucky’s weak protests. If he wouldn’t tell Tony who did it, Tony could at least make sure he wasn’t hurt more than he was letting on. He watches as Bucky’s guided out and down the hall by the orderly, feeling worried and disappointed he couldn’t do more. Closing the door, Tony leans back against it and breathes deep. What _was_ that? _Tony, where the_ hell _did your professionalism go?!_ His mind yells as he runs a hand down his face, but despite it he can’t help but think about the way Bucky’s hands had felt on him. Even if it had been innocent, nothing more than to simply steady the doctor and keep him from falling on his ass.

There was something different about Bucky Barnes, and Tony hadn’t been lying when he’d said he would figure it out. Because there _was_ something there, _just_ out of Tony’s reach. And Tony was persistent if nothing else. Even when his self-doubt tried convincing him otherwise. A knock on the door brought Tony out of his thoughts. A glance at the clock told him he’d wasted the ten minutes in-between patients thinking about Bucky, but couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised by the fact. Quickly shuffling over to his desk, he snatches up the file of his last patient for the night. _Great, this out to be fun_. The name atop the file stared back at Tony, almost mockingly; Ward, Grant Douglas. Ward wasn’t exactly a troubled patient, as some of the others that Tony dealt with, but he wasn’t exactly _pleasant_ either.

“Hey doc,” a smooth baritone purrs just after the soft _click_ of his office door opening sounds off. Something in Tony shivers uncomfortably at the way the words sound leaving his patient, _nothing like Bucky’s voice,_ he notes before berating himself for even _making_ the comparison in the first place.

“Hello again, Ward,” Tony greets, trying to rally back the professionalism that escaped him during his last patient’s session. He _had_ to remind himself of that fact; Bucky was his _patient._ “Take a seat and we’ll get started.”

Tony was a lot more used to Ward’s advances and blatant leers than he would like to admit. The patient seemingly taken with Tony upon their first meeting, and never toned down his advances since their first meeting. No matter how many times Tony had to remind him that _he was his doctor._ For a time, Tony had tried finding another college willing to take the patient on. Though apparently Tony was the only doctor he was willing to open up to, so Tony kept him on his roster. It wasn’t pleasant, but not every patient would be. The most he could hope for was helping improve Ward’s mental state.

Ward had been charged with the murder of his former partner; voluntary manslaughter, to be exact. Apparently having gone from overprotective of his late partner, to dangerously obsessive and didn’t take too kindly to his partner’s attempt at ending their relationship. Tony had read Ward’s case file, the sheer violence of the crime making him sick to his stomach. Though Ward’s case served as a prime example in many ways, to Tony. To always remind himself that it was his _job_ to try to rehabilitate people like Grant Ward. All the while remembering that looks and demeanour could be deceiving, and progress wasn’t as clear-cut as it appeared to be. However, it was also _because_ of patients like Grant Ward that it struck Tony how different Bucky was in comparison.

 _Enough, focus on your patient,_ Tony silently reprimands his wandering mind. Shifting in his office seat, his eyes give a quick scan over the notes in Ward’s file from their last session, “now, last time we were speaking about your childhood home….”

* * *

Bucky sat down opposite Steve in the institute’s visitor’s room nearing a week after his latest session with Dr. Stark. Unflinchingly returning the blond’s stare, waiting out his stupefied expression. He’d expected this, after all. It takes about a good three minutes before Steve finally manages speech.

“Buck what happened to your face?!”

The brunet manages to stifle his flinch when the blond reaches across the table. Artistic fingers gently brushing against greenish-yellow bruised skin, relishing in the touch for a moment before an orderly barks out, “ _no touching!”_ and forces Steve to withdraw his hand.

“It’s nothing,” he lies easily, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

The blond gets the message and drops his hand, but not the subject. Bucky wasn’t surprised, “it was Rumlow, wasn’t it?”

Bucky wanted to deny it, but it wasn’t an illogical leap to make, “I think he’s in Pierce’s pocket.” The beating he’d received in his cell from the orderly only confirmed his suspicions, but he wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

He only _slightly_ regrets voicing his suspicions as for the way Steve pales, but the blond needed to know. If he was right, then they were _both_ in danger.

“After everything...” Steve trails, words failing him as his mouth gapes. Likely, his mind was trying to wrap around the situation at hand. Bucky couldn’t blame him for it, he was still trying to do the same. “Why can’t he just _leave us alone?!_ Hasn’t he done enough?”

The chuckle that leaves Bucky holds no humour, the sound is almost pained, “we knew it wouldn’t be over so easily-”

“‘Easily’?! What the _fuck_ about this situation was _easy,_ Buck?” Steve balks, but Bucky continues despite the outburst. Steve wasn’t wrong, but there wasn’t time to focus on that now.

“-and for someone like Pierce it’s only really over once we’re dead.”

Steve sits back in his chair, shoulders slumped as his brows crease. They’d both known that was the reality of the situation the moment everything had started, but this was the first time either of them had said it aloud. And now that the words were spoken, they knew they couldn’t be taken back.

“So what do we do now?”

“Stark.” Steve raises a brow, adorable confusion clear on his face, “he knows something’s up with my case and seems hell-bent on figuring out exactly what that is. Plus, Pegs said if it came down to it, we should go to him for help. She said we’d have to do the convincing ourselves, but I don’t think it’ll take a lot honestly. He seems open to new information enough as is.”

Steve’s ocean-blues glance around at their surroundings before leaning forward, head ducked, “are we really going to involve him in all this?”

“What other choice do we have?” Bucky sighs, rubbing at his temples where he feels the beginnings of a migraine beginning to form, “it’s either get him to believe us, or we continue being sitting ducks until Pierce’s goons finally…‘take us out.’ And even then, that'll only work if he _does_ believe us because if not…I honestly think we’re screwed, Stevie. I am, anyway.”

“Don’t you start on that, it’s _both_ of us. We’re in this together, and you’re an ass if you think I’m backing out now.” Steve scrubs a hand down his face, shaking his head, “I told you, I’m working with that PI Jessica Jones. She’s one of the best in New York. We’ll figure this out, Buck, with or without Stark’s help. But having him on our side, in here, _would_ be a big help. We have to be smart about this. If he really _does_ have doubts about you being ‘crazy’ and we throw this all at him at once, whatever credibility we _do_ have with him goes out the window.”

“Always the man with the plan,” Bucky chuckles softly as he takes his boyfriend’s hand in his, giving it a light squeeze and pulling back before any of the watching orderlies can kick up a fuss. “No matter what happens...I love you Stevie, always.’

The blond smiles softly, “I love you too, Buck.”

“I love you both too,” a third voice states. The duo jerk apart in surprise, but relax when they see who’d spoken. Wade simple grins at them, eyes flicking between them, “aren’t you two just adorable?”

Bucky snorts a laugh, “what do you want Wilson?”

Wade Wilson was a favourite amongst the patients. He was known not only for his shenanigans but for standing up for his fellow insane at the oddest of times. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind the man was batshit, but there was also no doubt he had a bigger heart than he let on, either. The killer-for-hire past aside, anyway.

“Nothin’, just admiring how cute you two are, and to tell you that visiting hours are almost over.” The burnt man grins, pulling up a chair to sit with them. Arms resting on the back of the chair as he leans forward in it, "honestly it’s _beyond_ me why you’re in here and not out there with Mr. Every House Wife’s Wet Dream, Buckster.”

Bucky and Steve sit up a little straighter at the man’s words, but it’s Steve who asks, “what are you talking about?”

Wilson barks a laugh, head thrown back before wiping his eyes in exaggeration, “oh c’mon I may disfigured but I ain’t _blind._ Even my _boxes_ see that you two aren’t supposed to be here. Dr. Banner has more loose screws than either of you, and he’s a _doc_ here!”

“Wade-” Bucky starts, honestly not sure where he’s going to go with the threat when the man waves a hand.

“Whatever landed you here ain’t no business of mine- no what do you- oh shut _up!_ Yellow’s right on this one,though. You should just keep your head down, Buckaroo. This place isn’t nice to us crazies, and sayin’ you _ain’t_ crazy just makes you seem crazier than the people who thought MC Hammer was a ‘trendsetter’ with those parachute pants. Anyway, it was nice ogling you guys, but White’s sayin’ they have brownies today and you owe me, Buckareno!”

Steve chuckles softly at the man’s rambling, but nods all the same, “Wade’s right.”

Bucky leans forward, tapping his ear, “I’m sorry what was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of the flyin’ pigs.”

Steve laughs, but looks at his boyfriend with an expression Bucky thinks is the only warning to something that’ll upset them both, “no one believes someone who says they’re sane once they’ve been called _in_ sane. Despite what you think, and even if we’re careful...what’s to say Stark will think any different?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Bucky starts, taking Steve’s hand, “what did I say? Even if it’s a long shot, it’s one worth taking.”

“I know that, Buck. _I know_ but...I don’t want to hope only to-”

“Hey now, that doesn’t sound like my Stevie,” Bucky cuts in, voice gentle as he takes the blond’s hand back in his, “the Stevie _I_ know and love doesn’t give up hope. Hell, you were still hangin’ on through the trial.”

“And look where that landed us.”

“We’re still together, ain’t we?” The blond looks at his lover for a moment then nods, “we’ve been through hell, I won’t deny that, but we’ve made it through together. And we _will_ make it through this, babe. Together, like we always do.”

“What would I do without you?” Bucky notices the way Wade angles his torso just so that the orderlies can’t see their linked hands, and takes advantage of the kindness to quickly peck a kiss onto Steve’s forehead.

“Probably at a Starbucks being an artsy nerd, instead of in here,” Bucky answers, feeling the tension in his shoulder receding slightly when Steve laughs a little.

“Oh please, without you, everything sucks,” Steve says with a shrug, his eyes still focused on where their hands hold one another. Bucky watches for a moment, the familiar way Steve’s thumb strokes over his knuckles.

Bucky chuckles softly if a little sadly. Ducking his head low enough to look at Steve trough his lashes, “you always did know how to sweet talk a fella, Stevie.”

He wanted to kiss Steve, so, _so_ badly. But couldn’t risk pushing his luck again, it’d only get he and Wade’s visiting privileges revoked fro the month, if he did. He does, however, press a quick kiss to Steve’s knuckles before releasing them and moving to stand as the orderlies call the visitors to gather up and leave. Bucky is allowed one hug due to his good behaviour and takes advantage of it. He clings to Steve until the very last second, and tries to ingrain the warmth of Steve’s embrace until he has to let go. He watches as the love of his life walks out of the visiting room with the rest of the institutes’ guests. Bucky had honestly forgotten about Wade until the man nudges him, grinning like a goon and dramatically wipes away a non-existent tear.

“It’s unanimous,” he starts, glancing from the doorway where Steve exited and back to Bucky, “we all agree that you and Stevie are cuter than Bonnie and Clyde.”

Bucky looks over at Wade once Steve’s silhouette is finally gone, raising a brow, “didn’t they die in the end?”

“Semantics.” Wade answers with a shrug, taking Bucky’s hand in his scarred one and bellows, “brownie time!”

Wade had been right, there were brownies that day. Bucky stole them two brownies, each. And only _just_ managed to dodge Wade’s kiss of thanks, but Wade had covered for him earlier, so he calls them even.


	2. A Gut Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for all of y'all's support for the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one, too! On to the story!! xxoxoo

Tony stares at the laptop and the case files spread out in front of him. Logically, there really shouldn’t be a reason that this was bothering him so much and yet...there was just _something_ about Barnes’s case that gave him an itch he just _couldn’t scratch._ To say it was driving him insane was putting it lightly. Folding his arms atop his desk, Tony rests his forehead onto them. Breathing out a long sigh he closes his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts - not to too much success.

_He’s been charged with murder, Stark. He’s even had past psychological issues and treatment, it’s_ textbook _goddamnit!_ the logical part of his brain argued for the hundredth time, and yet he found another side of himself arguing back just as fiercely, _it’s_ too _clean! Barnes lives a proper, independent low-risk life with his boyfriend, and then suddenly snaps and kills his step-father’s bodyguard, and tries to kill his step-father? What’s the_ reason? _He and Rogers weren’t even living in the same_ state, _and suddenly he decides to kill the man? What’s the motivation? Hell, the supposed stressor_ _of a sudden ‘psychological break,’ what caused it?_

Tony groans, fists tightening. He knows people have killed others over far less, but there was just _something_ about Bucky that... _damn it._ Tony screws his eyes shut until he’s seeing stars. Trying to clear his mind of the man’s case in hopes that he can get _some_ sleep tonight, _this is going to end with_ me _turning into a damn patient._

Hands rest against his shoulders, large and warm through his dress shirt. And Tony can’t bite back the groan the touch elicits. The touch is gentle yet firm, kneading out knots in his shoulder blades with ease. He feels the hot breath against his neck before he hears the voice. He shivers.

“Breathe,” the familiar baritone whispers, soft lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Just breathe…let me take care of you,” the voice croons as hands slowly slip down the front of his chest, and for a moment Tony’s worried he’s forgotten _how_ to breathe.

Tony doesn’t have to look to know who it is. Whose lips ghost over the heated skin of his neck, and doesn’t fight the way his head lilts to the side leaving him more vulnerable than before. Tony knows he should question this but here and now, he can’t fight the thrill of anticipation he feels run up his spine. The anticipation of what? He has no idea, mainly because Tony’s pretty sure he’s lost all ability of coherent thought.

“So stressed,” Bucky huffs softly, warm breath ever so slightly chilly on his molten skin. “I know how badly you want to get your hands on me... _almost_ as badly as I wanted to get mine on you…”

Tony moans. unashamed. Head tilting a little further to the side as the slick heat of Bucky’s tongue runs up the side of his neck and reaches up to entangle calloused hands in brown silk locks.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Tony whines, turning his head to kiss-

Tony jerks awake. His neck immediately scolding him as it twinges painfully, arms numb on the table where they’d become his impromptu pillows. The doctor groans at the erection straining against his dress pants, back protesting his movements as he rolls his shoulders and hears his spine _pop,_ repeatedly. As the pins and needles in his arms fade, Tony rests a palm on his hardened length and knows he won’t last long. He should feel ashamed, he knows. _Knows_ how unprofessional and predatory it is to fantasies about his patients, people that _trust_ him with their care. But for right now, he lets logic slip his grasp as he unzips his pants and takes himself in hand. He’d been blessed - or perhaps cursed - with an eidetic memory, and takes full advantage of it to recall the images from his dream. Dreams were always a bit trickier to remember, but Tony could still recall the warm caresses and rasped words from the taller man. He can hear his own breathing change into quick gasps.

Tony had been right, he doesn’t last long. Coming over his fist after just a few jerking strokes, his entire body slumping into his seat in the aftermath. His strings cut. Tony groans and moves, feeling gritty and disgusted with himself only a few short seconds later. _This was wrong,_ he thinks and feels sick with it _._ All but throwing himself into his shower, he scrubs his skin hard. As though washing the evidence away would rid him of the shame heavy in his chest. He was supposed to be _helping_ Buck- _Barnes_ , but instead here he was fantasizing about him like a horny teenager. Tony doubles his efforts to scrub his skin of all evidence. Eyes fixed on the tiles of the small cubical-like shower stall, refusing to watch sweat and spunk circling down the drain swirled with suds of soap. Gone. And yet, he couldn’t rid himself of the taste of disgust coating his back molars. _Get a grip, Stark, and do your_ damn _job_.

Unbeknownst to himself until glancing over at the clock on his bedside table once exiting the shower, Tony realizes he’d slept hunched over his desk well into the early hours of the morning. Patting himself dry, he estimates that he has enough time to grab a coffee and bite to eat on his way back to the office without being late. Small blessings, he supposed. _I’m going to have to do the laundry soon_ , he thinks, staring at the spars clothes hanging up in his closet. If he and Pepper were still together, she would have probably had a fit over the disarray that was his apartment had become.

He settles on a deep maroon button-up and black dress pants. The slightly audacious colour of the shirt wasn’t what he exactly considered 'professional,' but at least he wasn’t wearing jeans. He usually preferred cool-tones for work, the colour a subtle help in creating a calmer environment for his patients. _One odd day in clothes won’t break the world,_ he thinks to himself as he does up the shirt and yanks on his pants. He’d have enough time for a quick breakfast, but only if he hurries. Stumbling into his work shoes by the kitchen entrance, he darts for his desk and then the door. Ducking out of his house with his satchel of case files heavy on his shoulder, he drives to the little café he’d claimed as his not far from his work.

Asgard Café was a small hole in the wall place that served - what Tony would bet his bottom dollar to be - the best coffee in New York. Maybe it helped that the two men that ran it were insanely attractive, but that was just a bonus, really. Tony was a bit of a coffee snob, when he wasn’t desperate, as his few friends liked to point out.

Tony saunters in like he owns the place, and greets Thor’s beaming smile with his own, “Thor, my man!’

The towering blond chuckles at the greeting, leaning against the counter as he watches Tony with a fond warmth that adds a pep to his step, “Tony, long time no see.”

“Been kinda crazy at work,” he answers with a shrug, coming close enough to rest his forearms on the counter as well.

“I won’t even _touch_ the double-meaning there,” the barista teases, already moving to get started on his usual drink order. ‘Sugar topped with dark roast,’ as Bruce calls it. No, actually he called it ‘diabetes in a cup,’ but that’s neither here nor there.

“I can think of something better you can touch,” Tony grins wider when the man lets out a braying laugh, always one to play along with Tony’s flirting. It was meaningless, really. Just a kind of banter that became natural between them, but Tony loved it all the same.

“One of these days, Loki’s going to poison your muffin for comments like those,” Thor throws back, pouring steaming liquid into a to-go cup.

“Oh, Loki knows I love him just as much as I do you,” Tony chuckles, leaning a bit more firmly against the counter to watch the man work, pushing up onto the balls of his feet, “your husband makes the best pastries in the world, how can I _not_ love him?”

“This, I cannot argue,” Thor says fondly, grabbing a paper bag for one of said ‘amazing pastries.’

Tony has been a longtime customer of Loki and Thor’s little haven of a café. While the place was initially frequented by Tony for its convenience, Tony began to realize he now came for the men’s company if nothing else. The couple were always warm and welcoming with Tony. The banter between the three of them lively and flirtatious, but genuine in a way Tony relished in. They didn’t mind his clumsy demeanour or at-times petulant attitude. Sometimes, Tony would swear they _enjoyed_ it. For Tony’s part, starting his day with a sweet word from Thor, or a fond threat from Loki was better than any coffee or pastry. Not that he’d ever let them know that, because he _did_ love their drinks and food, too.

However, while Thor works on his order Tony’s mind wanders, and he silently curses himself for where it decides to float off to. Almost immediately, he feels the levity Thor so _naturally_ offered to start to drain out of him. He was supposed to see Barnes today, but how could he? He feels shame begin to eat at his insides with renewed vigour and feels his smile slipping away as he falls back onto his heels. Hands flexing on the black marble countertop’s edge while his mind races. _I should switch him to a different physician,_ it’s the responsible thing to do, but _…we’re making_ progress, _finally and something about Bucky’s case just isn’t_ right _and…fuck, of course, I’d be the one to fuck it up._

“Something on your mind, Tony?” Thor’s questions pull Tony back to his surroundings, and he can see the almost heartbreaking amount of genuine _worry_ in Thor’s baby blues. And really, how can he - or _anyone,_ for that matter - deny someone as kindhearted at Thor Odinson?

The shorter man sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face while trying to formulate the right words. He settles on a half-truth, “have you ever been in a situation where your brain is telling you one thing, but your gut is basically _screaming_ a whole other tune?”

The blond in front of him sets down the to-go cup and paper baggie, expression thoughtful in the silence between them, “perhaps, but not exactly.” Tony tries to stifle a defeated sigh, but Thor continues anyway, “Loki and I have had our troubles, getting married being the biggest amongst them. To be honest, there was a moment in time it very-nearly never happened.”

Tony raises a brow, honestly taken aback. While Thor and Loki were almost complete opposites, they were perfect together. Two sides of the same coin never to meet eye-to-eye, and yet somehow they just _worked._ A balance for each other, perhaps. But hearing Thor say they _almost_ never ended up together genuinely rattles something within Tony.

“Our fathers had never been understanding of same-gender relationships, and for that reason did everything they could to keep us apart,” Thor starts, eyes going slightly unfocused, “logic told me to obey my father’s wishes, and Loki’s logic told him to do the same and follow in his father’s steps to take over his family’s business. But our hearts fought against what we knew to be logical, and…well, Loki and I eloped to America.”

Admittedly, the choked sound Tony makes is a little embarrassing but it’s _definitely_ warranted, “ _seriously?”_

Thor chuckles and nods, “but I’ve never regretted it, and Loki’s made it clear to me over the years he feels the same. Sometimes, our minds cloud what our hearts know to be the truth. Your job makes you a man of the mind and logic, but whatever your problem is it’s clearly important enough that your heart is fighting hard to speak louder than your mind.”

Tony takes in the man’s words, the satchel resting heavy on his shoulder a blaring reminder of what his ‘heart’ is fighting so loudly for. Starks have always been a people of logic, and yet...maybe this time, this once, logic wasn’t the right path to follow. _You know, deep down, Barnes isn’t where he’s supposed to be._ But could someone _really_ be mistakenly charged for murder? _It’s happened before, the justice system isn’t perfect._ But he couldn’t just jump into the deep end and believe that Barnes was innocent on the basis of his ‘heart’ and extremely unprofessional infatuation. Tony had to _prove_ it, or else Bucky would never _truly_ be freed.

_If_ he was wrong, he could be the reason for someone else is death further down the line. He had to tread carefully here, he knew. But maybe - just _maybe -_ Thor was right. And instead of trying to convince himself it was _impossible_ Bucky was innocent, Tony could work from the angle that while _improbable,_ it was still _possible._ That was fair, right? Well, it had to be, because Tony knew he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it otherwise.

“Has this been any help?” Thor asks after a moment, and the brunet meets the barista’s gaze with a renewed determination he never thought he’d reach.

He smiles, it’s hesitant but still there, “yeah...yeah it really has, thank you, Thor.”

The man all but beams at Tony, “it’s my pleasure.”

Tony reaches for his breakfast, “how much?”

“Nah, it’s on the house,” Thor says with a wave of his hand, and before Tony can object he continues, “all I ask in return is really you _listen_ to your heart, alright?”

Tony nods and smiles, a bit wider and turns to leave. Just before the cafe’s door close behind him, he’s _sure_ he hears Loki yell from the kitchen, “he can’t just _not_ pay because you think he’s adorable, you daft _oaf!”_

Tony can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him as he enters his car.

* * *

Bucky steps in before he could really think twice about his actions, but stands his ground all the same. It was either that, or leave Wade and Ward to kill each other. And for all of Wade’s crazy, he still counted the man as a friend and couldn’t just stand by and watch. The fight was worse than normal. The two men notoriously never got along but this time something was different, and Bucky knew he had to step in before the orderlies did. Bucky yanked the burnt man back, shoving himself in between them to maintain the distance lest Wade charge at Ward again. Grant was back on his feet within seconds, and stops just short of bum-rushing the two of them.

“Wade, you don’t want to end up in solitary again!” Bucky hisses, body tense, and looks at the manic Merc pleadingly. “You _know_ how upset everyone gets when you’re gone for too long,” he tries to reason, but is taken aback when Wade all but ignores Bucky in favour of yelling at Ward once more.

“You _leave him alone_ you bag of dick tips! He’s done _nothing_ but try to _help_ your crazy fuckin’ ass!”

The brunet stares at Wade in blatant confusion, but Grant is the first to speak - or really, _growls_ , “what happens in our sessions has _nothing_ to do with you, _Wilson_.”

“What’s he talkin’ about, Wade?” Bucky asks, ignoring the other man’s presence, knowing Grant wasn’t one to get involved with.

Wade looks at Bucky as though he’d only just noticed him, but breathes deep likely _trying_ for calm as he answers, “Dr. Stark.”

Something cold and _painful_ coils in Bucky’s gut right then. His eyes snap over to David Haller, another patient within the institute who usually loathed violence, but always had Wade’s back - no one knew exactly why, but it was guessed it was their shared psychosis and penchant for odd people was the reason they stuck so closely together. He looks at David, who’d shifted himself to stand beside Bucky effectively adding another barrier between the two patients, for an answer. “What do he mean?”

“I heard him in his room last night,” Wade grits out before David manages to reply, body tensing and - while careful not to touch him, knowing Wilson doesn’t like being touched without initiating it - tries to placate the man as he speaks, eyes never leaving Ward’s. “The psychotic _shit_ was rambling on about how Dr. Stark was ‘his’.”

It was no secret as to why Ward was locked up in SHIELD. Hell, it was _Wade_ who had warned Bucky and every other newcomer to stay _away_ from the murderer when they’d first arrived at the facility. But surely Tony couldn’t be in danger? He should be safe, as a faculty member. _Faculty members still get attacked, Barnes, no matter how many precautions are taken._ With a twisting realization, he recalls a rumour he’d heard when first working with Tony; the man had been attacked by a patient during a session once, but still decided to work with the patient despite their outburst. He wants to ask Wade for more details, but before Bucky could press the matter one of the orderlies - Coulson - arrives. His stony expression and raised brow warning enough without the man even having to utter a word. The group, thankfully, breaks apart without further fighting.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s time for your session,” Coulson’s tone was clipped and brooked no room for argument, so Bucky silently nods at Wade and David before following the man.

Bucky follows the orderly through the halls towards Dr. Stark’s office, knowing he was the man’s first session of the day. As we walked, he tried figuring out what he was going to say. He was on a mission to start convincing Tony that he was, in fact, _not_ supposed to be here. And yet, when he’d been called into the man’s office Bucky kind of just...stopped thinking. Stark was wearing a crimson shirt with black slacks, an ensemble Bucky had never seen him in before now. It was...oddly enticing. The deep red complemented his olive skin, and he felt a little taken aback by how much he liked the colour suddenly. However, before he could right himself, Tony seemed to notice him staring and spoke first.

“Good morning, Bucky,” the brunet greets from his seat in the chair across from the loveseat his patients usually laid down on. “I know, totally not professional, right?” he jokes light-heartedly, friendly, and his smile was nothing if not dangerously disarming.

Thankfully, Bucky’s brain seems to come back online quick enough for him to reply, “you look amazing.” Okay, so his brain was online, but clearly not yet _functioning_.

“Thank you,” was Tony’s only reply, though he looked a little… _odd_ at the blunt compliment.

Instead of making a further idiot of himself, Bucky quickly takes his seat across from the doctor. His hands wringing the one another in an attempt to distract himself from how _distracting_ Tony looked. _Focus, Barnes!_

“The last time we spoke we agreed to give Hypnotherapy a try, but I have to warn you of the risks, okay?” Tony starts, pen wrapping lightly against his notepad and pauses until Bucky nods. “You’ll be open to suggestions in that state, which is why it’s considered especially risky for recovering traumatic events. While I’m going to do my best _not_ to give you leading questions, I’m in no way perfect and can mistakenly do as such. However, despite…what might considered ‘professional’ I trust you to make this decision. So…all that said, is this something you still want to try?”

Bucky pauses for a moment, taking in Stark’s disclaimer, and for a moment his paranoia tells him to call off the offer of Hypnotherapy. After all, did he _really_ know if Stark wasn’t in Pierce’s pocket? No matter what Peggy said, people were unpredictable. Selfish. And Bucky had learned just how easily other humans could be treated as a means to an end. However, a larger, more hopeful part of Bucky tells him to go through with it despite the risks. It’s a part of him he finds himself trusting, maybe more so than he should.

“I still want to do it,” swallowing thickly, Bucky nods to reaffirm his answer to himself, if no one else. Meeting Tony’s gaze dead-on, he can’t help but add, “I trust you, Tony,” and finds he actually _means_ it. It’s almost like a gut feeling to do so.

The man watches Bucky for a moment before slowly nodding, his hand tightening ever so slightly around his pen as moving to stand, “okay then, lay down on the couch and we’ll begin in a moment.”

Bucky does as Tony instructs, shifting to sprawl out on the loveseat. Hands resting on his midriff as he watches Tony walk over to his desk and pick up a metronome. Gently setting off the arm where the device sits on his desk, and the ticking begins. The clicks aligning almost perfectly with Bucky’s own heartbeats. He thinks he should feel nervous, but as his eyes trail back over to his doctor, he can’t bring himself to. Tony shifts around a little more, pulling the curtains to his office closed before reclaiming his seat across from Bucky. The sunlight now only filtering in through the cracks in the cloth curtains, leaving the two men in shaded darkness.

“So what I’m going to do now is, hopefully, get you into a state known as a ‘trance’,” Tony starts, his voice softer - more sedate - than usual. Calming. Bucky listens to his words, enraptured, not wanting to miss a word. “I want you to breathe deeply in, slowly, and out through your mouth…exactly like that, you’re doing great, Bucky. Slowly, with every exhale, I want you to try to further relax your body and only focus on my voice. Slowly, you’ll feel your eyes getting tired, and don’t worry you can let them close…that’s it, you’re doing perfectly, Buck.”

Bucky continues to listen to Tony, his soft baritone and praises washing over him in a swath of warmth Bucky hadn’t felt in months. Slowly, he feels himself… _sinking_ somehow _._ Some distant part of him compares it to being drunk when the room spins as you lay down. But instead of nausea, Bucky feels nothing but contentment with each breath. Bucky loses track of the background noises that filter through Tony’s office door, the man’s voice eventually becoming all he hears. Bucky finds himself floating, somehow on the sound alone. There are a few beats of silence, the metronome is clicking the only thing filling the silence. Bucky’s limbs relax, settling into the feeling the quiet encases him in.

“Can you hear me, Bucky?” He thinks he nods but doesn’t know for sure, and whispers a soft affirmation to be sure. But is careful not to break the tranquillity he feels. “You’re doing amazingly, tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Light…fuzzy, somehow,” Bucky answers, his voice somehow more distant than Tony’s, but the realization doesn’t worry him.

“Alright…good. I want you to think of somewhere you feel comfortable, safe…” Tony’s gentle voice trails, washing over Bucky in the best ways possible, “are you there?”

Bucky feels a small smile pull at his lips, “yeah.”

“Tell me about it, take your time.”

“It’s Christmas Eve…we’re at Stevie’s ma’s house. I always loved her house,” Bucky finds himself saying, and can feel the warmth of the fireplace against his skin from the memory. Feel the weight of his boyfriend heavy, but comforting at his side. “I’m holding Stevie…we’re listening to Sinatra. Sarah loved Sinatra.”

“Steve has always been with you, hasn’t he?” The question is an easy one to answer, made easier with how soft Tony’s voice goes as he asks it.

“Always, no matter what…'til the end of the line.”

There are a few more moments of reminiscing. Of Tony reminding Bucky to hold onto the safety and comfort, he feels from that memory, and Bucky doesn’t honestly think he could ever let go of it. He isn’t sure how much time passes, but it must be enough because when Tony asks him the question he had dreaded all week, Bucky doesn’t feel as scared to delve into the memories as he thought he would.

“Now…that night we’d spoken about, the night that lead you here…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger? Kinda? Haha don't worry, we're just about to dive into the thick of things, and I can't wait to show y'all what's in store! Shout out to the adorable Good Bro Thor haha! Thank you again for your lovely comments last chapter, and I hope to see y'all back for the next one! xxoxoo


	3. The Precipice of A Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope everything is going well on your end, stay positive, geeky, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! xxoxoo

Tony watches the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. Dark locks curling ever so slightly around his sculpted face, and once again Tony has to remind himself that Bucky is his _patient._ Nothing more, can never _be_ more. He finds himself smiling as Bucky describes his safe space. Detailing to Tony the glow from the fireplace in Steve’s childhood home; about the man, he so clearly still loves and adores. Tony knew the feeling was mutual. Bucky’s visitor log only consisting of one name every week since he’s been allowed visitors; Steven Grant Rogers. Though Tony had never actually met nor seen the man, Bucky must have meant a lot to him if he drove out to the institute every week, without fail.

Tony takes in the image of the man before him, mentally cataloging every minute detail before pressing forward. Noting any subtle changes in Bucky’s body language that might occur as they move towards speaking about the night of the crime. Tony hadn’t been lying to Bucky in their last session, he _did_ care about his patients deeply, and their safety was his top priority. Bucky was no exception or ‘special case,’ at least not in _that_ regard.

“Do you remember why you were there that night?” Tony asks after Bucky settles, reassuring the physiatrist he was ready to move forward.

“I found out a secret. Steve he…told me not to go, but I had to…people were gonna get hurt if I didn’t…shoulda known,” Bucky answers, his calm expression twitching ever so slightly but Tony presses on. _Bucky’s still in a safe headspace,_ Tony thinks but keeps a keen eye on his patient, nonetheless.

“What should you have known?”

“The beer, it tasted…off. He never drank with me, before then…”

“Pierce?”

“Yes,” Bucky’s fingers twitch slightly, but already Tony was getting more than he ever had in any of their other sessions. _Just a little longer…_

“Do you recall the altercation with Pierce?” There’s a beat of silence. Bucky’s chest rising and falling slightly faster, and Tony knows he’ll likely have to pull Bucky out soon. _You can do this Bucky,_ he thinks but doesn’t say, not wanting to risk the moment.

“Yes,” Bucky shudders a breath, brows knitting together, “I told him I…that I _knew_ what he’d done and then…so much blood…scared, I _couldn’t_ _move_ …he tried to…hit me, again and again, and again-”

Tony stiffens as Bucky begins to hyperventilate, his words growing frantic towards the end. Despite knowing better, Tony rushes forward and kneels beside Bucky. He should have called an orderly for help, but he couldn’t just stand by and do _nothing._

“Bucky I want you to remember your safe space, find that place and hold onto it-”

“-I can’t…Pierce- I _can’t-”_

“-you _can_ Bucky, I’m right here- yes, just like that. I’m going to count back from five and you’re going to open your eyes,” Tony instructs, making sure not to touch the man just yet, and forces his voice calm lest he worsens Bucky’s state. “Five, four, three…two…one.”

Bucky’s eyes snap open. His hands shoot out and Tony only _just_ manages to dodge the accidental backhand, but is too close to keep from being sharply yanked forward by Bucky. Losing balance, Tony finds himself laying half-sprawled across Bucky’s rapidly heaving chest. Tony doesn’t miss a beat. Wrapping his arms around the man, he tries soothing Bucky’s trembling form. A mantra of, “you’re okay, you’re okay Bucky, I’m right here…you’re okay,” leaving Tony’s mouth before he even realizes it.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean-” Bucky starts, but doesn’t let go of Tony. _He just needs the contact, he isn’t a violent patient._

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Tony interjects, face tipped up to look at the younger man, “the topic was intense, your reaction was one I expected and prepared for…how are you feeling?”

Barnes swallows thickly. Pink tongue darting out to lick chapped lips, sounding slightly hoarse as he answers, “I’m…I’m okay. I just- can I please hold you, just for a minute?”

Tony knew he should object, but he’d already crossed so many professional boundaries, _what’s one more?_ Especially when Bucky so _clearly_ needed him? Pin-prick pupils surrounded by stormy irises silently pleading Tony to - at the very least - acquiesce, and he does. It would be comical how fast the answer leaves him if it didn’t terrify him.

“Yes,” Tony replies in a soft whisper and does his best to hold back a shiver as Bucky runs his thumbs in calming circles at the base of Tony’s spine almost as though _Tony_ were the one approaching a panic attack. Like Tony's the one in need of comfort, instead of the other way around.

The duo falls into a lull of silence, neither moving. But it comes to an end after what feels like an eternity to Tony when Bucky shifts, and despite Tony’s knees thankful for the chance to move, he already misses the warmth of the man as he pulls away. But Bucky’s grip moves from Tony’s waist to his forearm. Tony sees the mix of emotions that plays across his face, until finally settling into resolve. And Tony forces himself to look away for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

“Did any of that help?” Bucky asks, breaking the silence with a voice that sounds to _fragile._

Tony looks back up at Bucky to find the man already staring, unabashed, “yes, it…it really did, Bucky. You did an amazing job.”

Barnes’ lips tick upwards, and _God_ does Tony want to know what they’d feel like against his own, “good, that’s…that’s good. Tony I-”

Tony can’t help it, he finds himself leaning in before he can stop himself, “what is it Bucky?”

“Steve,” Barnes rasps, and if there was ever a wake-up call, that was it.

Tony can’t help the way he flinches. Jerking back he looks at the clock on the wall, ten more minutes and this would be over. _What the hell was I thinking?_ Tony moves to stand, his knees popping and protesting at the quick movement but he doesn't’ care. Instead, he uses the pain to ground himself. What had he been thinking? Hoping for? That Bucky would _kiss_ him? That he would forget about the man Bucky’d _admitted_ to being in love with since before he’d even reached a double-digit birthday? _Get your head on straight, Stark,_ his mind reprimands, and Tony all but stumbles towards his desk.

 _You fucking weak-willed imbecile,_ Tony’s mind screams at him, _be a damn professional!_ But why was that so hard to _do_ around Bucky?

Bucky seems to have caught onto the change in atmosphere as he sits up, worried eyes watching Tony. Likely panicking that Tony wouldn’t investigate his case because he hadn’t done what Tony wanted, and wasn’t _that_ yet another painful wake-up call? Tony had left his father’s company, gave up his inheritance because he’d wanted to _help_ people. And less than a few steps behind him was a man who thought Tony would toss him aside because he didn’t swap spit with him. _You fucking bastard,_ Tony’s mind internally snarls at him, but he can’t rebuke the statement. He _was_ being a damn bastard. _Fix this, Tony._

“Tony?” Bucky calls out from behind but sounded closer than he should be, and Tony felt overwhelmingly sick with himself.

“What’s Steve’s number?” Tony hears the shuffling steps behind him halt. His tone was far harsher than he’d meant for it to be, but keeps his back to Bucky, all the same, not trusting himself to look at the man. His eyes reaming glued onto the cheap mahogany of his desk.

“What?”

“What’s Rogers’s _number,_ Bucky?” Gritting his teeth he turns around, and jumps back slightly at how close Barnes is to him, _focus!_ “I can’t promise you anything, but despite…” despite what? His total lack of professionalism towards Barnes? Or the _blatant_ abuse of power he’d just displayed? “I’m still going to look into your case, but I’m going to need Steve’s help if I can really get anywhere. So again, what’s his number?” Tony manages to soften his tone, focusing as much sincerity into his expression as he meets Bucky’s eyes.

“You…believe me?” Barnes questions, jaw slack, clearly dumbfounded by Tony.

“No,” Bucky visibly deflates, and Tony quickly tries to clarify, “not completely, is what I meant to say. Look, Bucky…there’s truth to what you’re saying that much is clear, but see me as a jury; without actual _evidence,_ what I think or believe means fuck all.”

Barnes seems to consider this, taking a small step forward and Tony tries - as subtly as possible - to move back without offending the man, “but do _you_ believe me?”

Tony feels his jaw work to come up with an answer to that. Words failing the genius, despite his best efforts. He feels a dizzying mix of anger and utter _longing_ thrash around in his chest when Bucky’s gaze dips down to his mouth, taking another tentative step forward. _No, stop- don’t_ do _that! Don’t fucking do this because you think it’s the only way I’ll help…please don’t do this to me,_ Tony internally pleads, but can’t find the strength to move. Bucky is captivating, as much as it destroys Tony to admit. They both jump at a knock on the door, and never before had Tony been so _grateful_ for an orderly to show up to his office. Even the time one of his patients had bitten him, he’d been a little peeved by the interruption; he’d been glad for the help, but not for the way the patient had been handled after-the-fact.

“That’s our time, Barnes,” Tony manages out, internally wincing at how thready his voice sounds even to his own ears.

Bucky hesitates for a moment, before reaching around Tony. The man stiffens for a moment until Bucky straightens back up, and with a nod at Tony, Bucky turns to leave. It isn’t until the door of his office clicks shut that Tony releases the breath he’d unknowingly been holding, body slouching against his desk in relief. He focuses on trying to catch his breath. After a moment, Tony twists around and sees his note pad; scribbles of blue ink spelling out a name and number. Tony knows right then, that he’s at the precipice of a choice; helping Bucky could mean divulging information that could revoke his license to practice, flushing years of blood, sweat and tears down the toilet. Or worse, land him in jail. But if he _does_ help, it could mean a possibly innocent man is freed. It could mean _justice._

Isn’t that what Tony started all this for? To _help_ people?

If he was being honest with himself, there was never really a 'choice' to be had because he already knew his answer, deep down.

* * *

Steve jogs to a stop, focusing on his burning legs and heaving chest. Keeling over, the blond grips onto his knees and tries to get his breathing under control through wheezing gasps. _If Buck where here, he’d probably smack me upside the head,_ Steve thinks with a small grin. Even after the hundred pound gain, almost full foot growth spurt, and outgrowing nearly _all_ his childhood ailments Bucky was still as protective of a mother hen as ever over Steve. The blond knew he should have hated being doted on when he was fully capable of caring for himself, but the reality was, he loved it. He adored Buck’s infatuated behaviour, his need to look out and care for those he loved. He _missed_ it. Painfully missed when Bucky would tell him to slow down and _breathe_ while running- the slight fond expression falls, _I wish you were here, Buck._

Steve’s music quickly fades, and he reaches for the device as his running playlist is replaced by his ringtone. An unfamiliar number fills his screen, _it’s likely a wrong number,_ he reasons before declining the call. Straightening up, he makes to set off again only to stop when the number to call back. This time, he answers.

“Hel-” he starts, only to be cut off.

“ **Is this Steve Rogers?** ” The unfamiliar voice on the other end asks, _not a wrong number then_ , Steve thinks.

“Yes?”

There’s a slight sigh from the unknown caller, a small huff of relief perhaps, “ **this is Anthony Stark,** ” Steve’s stomach knots up instantly, mind racing in a downward spiral of possible reasons Bucky’s doctor would be calling him. “ **I’m calling- christ this is so unprofessional…fuck it. I’m calling because I believe that there’s a _possibility_ Barnes isn’t…where he should be.**”

 _Bucky said Stark thought something was wrong with his case, does this mean he believes Bucky?_ Steve’s mind rambles, and apparently so had his mouth.

“ **Yes, I do believe something’s ‘wrong’,** ” Tony answers, pausing for a moment as the faint sound of rustling comes from his end.“ **But like I said to Barnes, what I _believe_ means jackshit without any evidence, the evidence _we_ need to find.**”

Steve leans against a nearby wall, despite his legs no longer trying to do an impression of overcooked noodles, “do you have anything?”

A pause, “ **maybe.** ”

“We should meet, are you-”

“ **There’s a café not far from the institute called Asgard Café, I’ll meet you there in an hour,** ” Stark states, before abruptly ending the call. Steve stares down at his phone, and no matter how much he tries to tell himself it wasn’t true; Steve felt a _real_ flare of hope bloom in his chest for the first time in months.

 _I hope this doesn’t bite us in the ass,_ is all he can think before rushing off to make it in time for the meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, SO MUCH! For y'all's support for this story! I hope you're enjoying yourself as much as I am, and II hope to see y'all at the next chapter! xxoxoo


	4. Doing the Right Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so sorry for the delay, I'm planning on getting the next chapter up sooner. This is a set up for what's to come, we're finally getting closer to the meat of this story! And Steve and Tony finally meet! Eek!! Hahaha! Enjoy!

It was a simple enough question so Tony really didn’t understand why Loki was looking at him like that. For a moment thinks he may have _actually_ sprouted a second head, though Bruce had told him spontaneous growths of extra heads were impossible. Several times.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Stark, the last time you asked for a cigarette it was right after Pepper left you,” Loki explains, but holds out the thin menthol regardless, “so why not tell me what’s troubling you before you fly off the rails and try to spike your coffee again?”

Tony winces at the memory, feeling old embarrassments quickly flaring up at the mention of it. That hadn’t been a good time for him, especially when Thor caught him trying to ‘spice up’ his coffee with cheap store-bought whiskey and snatched his flask away from him. The dressing down had been embarrassing enough, the fact that he’d resorted to _jumping_ to try and take back his flask from the human equivalent to a skyscraper didn’t help matters, either.

Tony waits for Loki to light up his own cigarette before leaning in and cupping his hand around the flame to light his own. He said nothing, choosing to watch the cherry at the end of the cigarette come to life as he inhaled for a moment instead. Tony wasn’t much of a smoker, but the nicotine did help when he was stressed - his guilty pleasure, perhaps. Loki and Thor were definitely more than just his favourite café owners, and he knew they considered him as more than just a customer, but this? He couldn’t risk even trusting _Bruce_ with it, and Banner was his _best friend_ \- other than Rhodey, of course. However, Tony also knew he had to tell _someone_ lest he loses his mind.

“I’ll be honest,” Tony starts, blowing out a cloud of smog between pursed chapped lips, “it’s to do with a patient so I can’t share a lot of the details, but…I need to tell _someone,_ like, to get an outsider’s perspective on this, y’know?” Loki twitches a brow, silently urging him on as he leans against the wall behind the café. Tony leans on the wall beside him, like two teenagers sneaking out behind the school for a smoke between classes. It reminds Tony of his MIT days, though back then pot had been his vice of choice.

“You know you have about as much facial expression as Professor Snape, right?”

“So I’ve been told,” Loki chuckles softly, the corner of his mouth twitching skyward, “and _you_ are deflecting.”

Tony groans head tilting back against the rough bricks, “shit, what _can_ I even say about this? There’s- oh christ, okay, fine… _fuck_ _it._ With what I’m about to do I’m probably going to lose my job anyway, license too if I’m being realistic. There’s a patient at the institute who I don’t think should be there, even though all the damn evidence says that he _should be_ and I’m about to meet with his boyfriend to try to see if we can dig up anything that actually _proves_ that.”

Loki takes another drag of his cigarette, the coal turning bright red as he inhales before dying out as he pulls the filter away from his lips, “I can see why the situation would seem like a stressful one, but why not just cut the shit and tell me what’s _actually_ got you so freaked out, Tony?”

_Okay, you know what? Fuck Loki,_ how had Tony forgotten the man was far more observing than his husband? Thor was nowhere near as air-headed as he pretended to be, always one to pick up on small, subtle cues many would overlook. But Loki? Loki would put any spy in the _world_ to shame.

“Thor knows how to read people, but unlike my darling husband I don’t give them the benefit of the doubt when I do it,” Loki chuckles, almost like he could hear Tony’s internal annoyed admiration for the man’s observation skills. Grinning at the brunet he continues, “and you’re a lot worse at hiding your feelings than you think you are, now spill.”

“I almost kissed him,” and as much as Tony loathes to admit that fact aloud, he does feel better for it - if not more guilty.

“The patient, I’m assuming?”

Tony nods, “I knew, logically- _morally_ it was wrong. He has a boyfriend, someone he loves that’s waiting for him. Someone I’m _meeting_ with today to _help_ him. And I’m his doctor, he _trusts me-_ but…I just- _fuck._ I honestly just didn’t _care_ at that moment, Loki. I thought he- no, I don’t know _what_ I was thinking.”

“Well, that makes much more sense and _is_ very unprofessional,” the baker begins, making Tony pathetically whine because he _knew_ that- “but there has to be something more to this because you’re far more professional than you give yourself credit for.”

Tony snorts, “oh yeah? And you know that for a fact?”

Loki shoots Tony a look that says it all, but turns his gaze forward before speaking, “Anthony, you said it was a ‘hazard of trying to help people’ after one of your patients _bit you._ So yes, I do know _for a fact_ you care a little _too much_ for your patients to be inappropriate and take advantage of them. You gave up a _fortune_ because you wanted to make a difference in the world _on your own terms,_ so don’t you dare try to feed me some self-loathing crap; you wouldn’t just throw that all away for a piece of arse.”

Tony was struck silent for a moment in the face of Loki’s blatant honesty. Honestly for a man who seemed to observe so much, Loki was careful about what he said, always holding his cards close to his chest. Tony stares at the man unabashed, but Loki doesn’t meet his eyes. Finishing off his cigarette, Loki flicks it away which is what reminds Tony of the one burning away between his middle and ring finger. He never liked cigarettes touching his index, he doesn’t know why but it’s been that way for as far as he can recall. Tony takes one last quick drag of near-burnt out cigarette before dropping it and crushing it under his heel, all the while Loki’s words run rampant in his head. For a moment their still, like both men want to speak but neither wants to break the lull of silence.

Tony’s the first to make a sound, scrubbing a hand over his face. The vote of confidence from Loki was great and all, but what was he supposed to _do_ with that? Loki showed more faith in him than even _Pepper_ had during their relationship. Tony had left SI when he realized he was too weak to stomach working for a weapon mongering company - family legacy be damned - but with it, he’d abandoned any hope of a happy future with her. They still haven’t spoken about it all. She’d been so disheartened by his decision to _do the right thing,_ and yet here was Loki still holding out hope for him when he was toeing the line of doing the _wrong_ thing.

“If you really want to make up for your mistake,” Loki starts, pushing off the wall, “pull it together, and prove that man’s innocence.”

Tony watches the baker head back into the café’s back entrance, “you really think I can do that?”

Loki pauses by the door, throwing the brunet one last glance over his shoulder, “Tony, when you have your mindset on something you’re like a dog with a bone, _that_ I know for a fact.”

Tony barks a laugh, feeling slightly lighter and takes a deep breath before following behind Loki back into the café. Because Loki was right, of course; the only way he could redeem himself now, was doing right by Bucky.

* * *

It was a place he’d passed several times, but never actually gave a second thought about. Steve had a handful of preferred cafés he frequented, but Asgard Café had never been one of them. Upon entering the quaint little coffee house, he quickly felt encased in a sense of homeliness that calmed his nerves somewhat. Immediately smiling at a rather large blond that grins at him from beside the cash register, leaning on the counter as Steve ventures further into the café. _Stop acting like a frightened child, Buck would be having a laughing fit if he could see me right now,_ Steve thinks to himself and rolls his shoulders before approaching the front counter.

“Hello there, haven’t seen you in here before,” the man greets, his baritone surprisingly welcoming.

“Never been in here before,” Steve answers once reaching the counter, the man shifts to his full height and wasn’t that intimidating? “I’m actually here to meet someone, maybe you know him? His name’s-”

“Stark I swear if you don’t shut up I _will_ put valium in your coffee!” A voice smooth accented voice threatens a resounding laugh the only response as two men enter the café through what must be the back entrance.

“Make it two and you got a deal.”

“You’re incorrigible,” the same accented voice huffs, “and beyond annoying.”

“I love you too, honey bun.”

“That the man you’re looking for?” the large blond behind the counter asks with a grin, bright eyes moving over to watch the bickering dup fondly.

Steve nods despite the man not looking at him, standing awkwardly until the shorter man notices him, and if Bucky’s descriptions of Stark were right he’s indeed found his man. Steve shifts uncomfortably on the spot waiting for Stark to notice him, and when he does Steve’s immediately struck still by the intense gaze of brown eyes that meet his ocean blue. _Clearly Bucky left some things out about Stark because the man is gorgeous,_ Steve thinks, and - after a second’s hesitation - walks up to the man as he comes around from behind the counter.

“Stark?” Steve says by way of greeting.

“Rogers, I’m assuming?” Stark answers, taking Steve’s hand in his own, the skin of his palm rougher than someone with an office job normally would be. It intrigues Steve, but that wasn’t why he was here.

“That’d be me,” Steve replies, eyes flicking over Stark’s shoulders to see that the man he had walked in with moves to stand beside the towering blond. The dup blatantly staring at them. The dark-haired man that walked in with Stark watches Steve with what he immediately knows is suspicion, though he honestly cannot fathom why. “Should we get started?”

Stark nods, pulling his hand away and nods towards a corner seating the café before walking over. He pulls a satchel from one of the two seats, placing it on the small, round table as he claims one of the chairs. Steve sits across from him, leg bouncing with nerves beneath the table, his own backpack now a heavy reminder of why they’re both here. Steve sets his backpack onto his lap in hopes of halting his jittery actions but flinches all the same when Stark speaks.

“I’ll tell you what I told Barnes,” the shorter man begins, staring unwaveringly at Steve, “nothing we believe matters until we find evidence that proves the verdict wrong, so until then I’m going to believe the evidence.”

Steve swallows thickly, hackles rising but bites back the bile that rises in the back of his throat in fear that this plan was already a nonstarter. He needed to trust Bucky’s judgment about the man, “but…you do believe Bucky’s innocent, right? At least got _some_ degree,” Steve is quick to add when Stark opens his mouth to speak.

Stark’s mouth snaps shut but he nods, his expression warring with the intense look in his eyes, “logically, everything seems bulletproof but…there’s just _something_ wrong about this situation and…like someone I trust said; when I put my mind to something, I’m like a dog with a bone.” Stark looks up at Steve, jaw working as he formulates his next words, “but until this is proven, I _have_ to remain impartial…you understand that, right?”

Steve nods, something in his chest loosening for the first time in a long time, “your help is all we ask…thank you Mr. Stark, really… _thank you.”_

“It’s the least I can do,” Stark says with a wave of his hand but his expression darkens slightly, though he’s quick to shake it off. “Stark was my dad, so how about we stick to Tony, okay?”

Rogers can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth, “call me Steve, then.”

Something settles between them right then, a kind of civil trust, or at least an understanding between two people deciding to work together towards the same goal. Star- _Tony_ seems to settle ever so slightly, setting a pile of files onto the table before setting his satchel on the ground, gesturing towards Steve.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” he asks, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips that’s far more endearing than it has any right to be _especially_ with the cheesy phrasing, but Steve laughs all the same as he digs out his own findings. Tony was charming if nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will vary in length but overall they may be a bit shorter from now on. The first few were longer as it was hard to try to split them up without it seeming awkward. This chapter is a bit of a 'filler' but is needed to set up everything else. I hope you enjoyed it and I'll see y'all again soon! xxoxoo


	5. Finding a Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony try to find a lead with Bucky's case, and Tony realizes he may be in over his head...

They lose track of time in the cozy little café, both men pouring over the pooled information and making their way through each other’s understanding of Bucky’s case. Tony’s gotten to the point of jittery exhaustion, which wasn’t helped whatsoever by his copious amounts of espressos he’d drunk and the sleep he’d not had. And despite the fact this is usually the sort of exhaustedly-manic state in which Tony’s best ideas tended to arrive, the genius still comes up blank. Between Tony’s files and Steve’s PI - Ms. Jones, he’d said - is findings, they should have been able to find something - _anything -_ by now, but they hadn’t. _It’s all air-tight,_ Tony thinks morosely, but there had to _something_ they were missing…right? But his will to keep going was beginning to diminish with every passing hour, his damned _logic_ telling him to quit while he still _hasn’t_ ruined his career; that maybe they keep hitting dead ends because…well, maybe because Bucky isn’t as _innocent_ as they may - _want_ to -believe.

“Christ, my eyes are starting to cross,” Tony huffs, leaning back in his seat as he raises his arms over his head to stretch out his spine from being hunched over so long, wincing at how loudly his spine pops. It’s been _hours_ and nothing seems out of place, and despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, Tony knows when he’s been beaten. “Steve…I’m sorry but everything-”

“Tony _please_ don’t give up,” Steve looks at the physiatrist with eyes that are filled with - well, for lack of a better word - _desperation._ “There has to be _something,_ something we missed or-”

“Have you checked the finances?” Loki’s voice cuts into Steve’s pleading, both men huddled over the small table startle, their attentions snapping up to the baker.

“What?” Steve asks staring up in surprise at Loki, eyes flitting between him and Tony in confusion, a clear _he knows?_ etched onto his features.

“Explain,” Tony says instead, ignoring Steve and gazes intently at Loki.

“Well, you two have been mumbling, not as quietly as you may have thought by the way,” Loki starts, setting down fresh mugs of coffee before pulling up a chair from a nearby table to join them, sifting through their mountain of papers for a silent moment. “From what I’ve gathered, everything you two seem to be looking at is coming from the night of the crime. But if you really _do_ believe that- Alexander Pierce, right? Is behind all this, he’d very likely paid someone to do the deed, because I doubt someone of his standing would risk dirtying his own hands with all this.”

Steve stares at Loki with open distrust, sitting back in his seat as he folds large arms over the thick barrel of his chest, “how do you figure?”

“My father wasn’t the…shall we say, most _honest_ of businessmen,” Loki sits back in his seat as well, not deterred by Steve’s - rather intimidating - gaze, “and money’s a great motivator for people with little-to-no morals. So if your boy truly _is_ being set up, there will be a trail of money, albeit a _very_ well hidden one. But I’m sure if you look in the right places you’ll stumble upon something to help with your case.”

With that Loki stands up, returning the added chair to its rightful place and leaves, clearing out their empty mugs as he goes. Tony feels like smacking himself because _of course._ Someone as influential as Alexander Pierce wouldn’t risk doing his own dirty work, he’d just pay some chum to do it and watch as the pieces fell into place from behind the scenes - all he had to do was be in the right place at the right time, and make sure Bucky was, too. The courts would have looked over these very same documents, which is why going over them again - while informative - was ultimately useless; they had to look in places that _hadn’t_ been looked at during Bucky’s trials, and rehashing old findings would not only get them nowhere but convince them to give up. _But that would be the point, wouldn’t it?_ Tony thinks, frankly pissed off with himself for not coming to that realization sooner.

Steve fixes his gaze on Tony, who holds up a hand before the man can speak, “one, yes I _do_ trust Loki, and two, he’s right; if Pierce really _did_ plan to set Bucky up, then he’s had help because there’s no way he’d risk setting this up himself and risk being caught in the crossfire. I’m a fucking idiot for not thinking of that before.”

Steve looks like he wants to argue Tony’s self-admonishments, but doesn’t, looking just as contrite. However, hope begins to fill Steve’s features anew a few moments later for the first time since they’d begun working together. Tony’s not a blind man, fully willing to admit the elation in Steve’s gaze is an amazing sight to behold - even if that admission is only to himself.

“Talk to your PI and ask her to look into Pierce’s finances,” Tony says instead, willing away the curling in his gut and focuses intently on his steaming mug of coffee as he continues, “specifically things off the books, even if it seems innocuous or meaningless, _anything_ could help point us in the right direction at this point. It won’t be easy but…if Loki’s right, and he usually is even if I’d never tell him, that could be our ticket to getting Bucky free. If you need help paying her-”

“We don’t need your handouts-” Steve cuts in, expression suddenly losing it’s gorgeous shine from seconds ago, now hard and defensive.

“Rogers _swallow your damn pride_ and accept my fucking help. You’re just as hard-headed as he- good lord, I’m just trying to _help,_ Steve. I’m in this as deeply as you are now, and this has to be done right otherwise there’s no damn point, okay?” Tony sighs, his exhaustion hitting him full-force now. “Do it for Bucky.”

Steve seems to hesitate but sighs and nods, his shoulders slumping and just as quickly as his expression turns into one of regret, _he’s so goddamn expressive,_ “you’re right. You’re _right_ , Tony, and I’m sorry…you really trust him?” Tony can’t help but glance over towards the front counter, catching sight of Thor and Loki just as he pecks the shorter man on the lips, smiling at the small twitch that pulls at Loki’s lips as he rolls his eyes in fond exasperation at his husband’s antics.

“Honestly? Yeah, I do,” Tony replies, turning back to meet Steve’s gaze, only to pull his attention away from it and reach for his coffee instead. “I should get going before someone notices Barnes’ files have gone missing, but I’ve made digital copies, here,” Tony takes a long, burning pull from his coffee before reaching into his satchel and hands Steve a USB, waiting for the man to accept it before gathering up Bucky’s files.

“I have my own copy so it’s yours, but have your PI look through it since she might be able to see something we didn’t,” Tony throws in as he moves to stand, securing the bag on his shoulder he’s about to leave when he feels a warm hand take his, stopping him in his tracks. Tony looks down at the pale hand that stands stark against his olive skin, before meeting the azure blue eyes of the man it belongs to. It’s a stroke of luck that Tony doesn’t shiver at his warm touch.

“Thank you for this Tony, for…” Steve trails trying to find the right words, his other hand tightening around Tony’s little parting gift while the one on Tony twitches a little. His oceanic eyes are fixed on Tony with sincerity no one human should be able to possess, Tony wants to hate it, but knows what he hates is how much he likes it. “For everything…for giving Bucky a chance.”

Tony can’t help the self-deprecation in his chuckle, “if anyone deserves a second chance, it’s Barnes.”

Something shifts in Steve’s gaze then, a kind of fondness softening his tired features, “thank you.”

Finally, Steve releases Tony, but the older man finds himself lingering there for a moment anyway. He tries excusing his meandering by helping Steve gather up his files, and for a selfish moment, lets himself enjoy the accidental touches they have. _When had I become so damn touch-starved?_ Tony almost snorts humorlessly at the thought, _always, Tony, you’ve always been starved for touch,_ and he hates how that truth stings. Steve insists on paying for the coffee ‘this time ‘round’ before they go their separate ways. Tony watches Steve walk down the dimly lit street in the opposite direction. He notes the slight bounce to the man’s step now there that hadn’t been earlier and feels himself smile, if only for a moment before heading to his own car.

He wonders why it was so important for Steve to accept his help, sure it was for Bucky’s sake but when he said it, it felt like it was more than that. Like it was the most important thing, for Steve to accept him- _accept my help,_ he amends, but the correction doesn’t sit right with him. They were getting somewhere, _I hope we are, anyway._ But…that’s what a lead was, wasn’t it? Not the answer, but a potential arrow _to_ the answer. That potential doesn’t hit Tony until he’s halfway back to the institution, and when it does Tony can’t help but grin - almost painfully - because _they actually might have a lead._ They had a fucking _lead,_ and Tony tells his logic to _suck it_ because even if it’s a slight chance it’s still _a chance,_ and far more than Tony honestly believed they’d manage after so many hours of finding _nothing_.

Tony drives into his usual parking space and ducks out of the car, striding back into the darkened building. He navigates his way through the dimmed halls with practiced ease; he’s not hurried since it wouldn’t be the first time he’d come in after-hours to work on his case files. If anyone were to look back through the security camera’s recordings, seeing Tony at the institution at odd hours was nothing to raise a brow at, and he had to remember that. However, his steps falter when he hears shouting; instinct has him running _towards_ the noise. Its moments like these Rhodey and Bruce would reprimand him about his self-preservation instincts, or lack thereof, _well they can suck it._

Tony slows at Wilson’s cell, wincing at the barked shouts and curses. Peering through the observation opening, he sees his patient curled into himself, hands fisted on his clothes. Tony knows he should call an orderly to assist him, but also knows Wade well enough that he doesn’t hesitate to punch in the security code and open the room’s door. He pauses at the entrance long enough for Wilson to see him, before moving further in and kneeling down beside the man; despite what many may think, Wade wasn’t as violent as he leads many to believe.

“Sorry,” Wade rasps, scrubbing furiously at his eyes, “sorry it’s just… _fuck_ my skin…Doc’ it _fuckin’ hurts,_ like… _more_ than the end of _Marley & Me _hurt. _”_

“They’re phantom pains, Wade-”

“Don’t you think I fuckin’ _know_ that, Sherlock?!” Wilson snaps glaring at Tony, but the doctor doesn’t flinch at the outburst, and after a moment Wade calms enough to mumble apologetically, “sorry, I liked you better than that eggs Benedict guy anyway.”

Tony chuckles softly but dismisses Wade’s ramblings, knowing better than to have him explain his nonsensical words. They’d be here all night otherwise, “I know you know that, so we _both_ also know that _it’ll pass._ Remember those breathing exercises we practiced in our sessions?” Tony pauses, waiting for Wade’s responding nod before asking, “wanna try some?”

It takes a little more coaxing, but Wade eventually relents and follows Tony through their practiced breathing exercises until Wade no longer claws at his clothes. His fists relax enough for his arms to fall limply at his sides, muscles no longer strained with anxiety and pain. His face relaxes too, eyes a little distant as he follows Tony’s instructions, but they’re no longer clouded with pain. _Its moments like these,_ Tony thinks as he breathes deep and watches as Wade copies his actions with less and less strain and panic, _that remind me why I started down this path in the first place._ Somewhere during the Bucky situation, Tony felt like a disgusting, despicable _fraud_ \- to be honest, to some degree he _still does -_ but here and now, helping Wade through his pain and fear he’s reminded of why he’d taken this job in the first place; to help. His feelings for Bucky were wrong, he _knew_ that, but taking advantage of his patients wasn’t his intention. He wanted to _help_ these people get better, help them _be_ better…and with Barnes he’ll have to remind himself of that, can’t let his silly lonely heart get the better of him anymore. _Be better, Stark._

Tony isn’t sure how long he stays there with Wade, sat on the floor with his patient and aiding him through the anxiety attack triggered pain. But Wade no longer sits and pulls at his clothes like them just being on him hurts the man, which is a plus. Wade’s phantom pains were always closely followed by anxiety attacks, but Tony was just glad he was there to help him through it. Wade was a good man, Tony honestly believed that he just…lost his way somewhere along the way. He knew Wade had a reason for becoming a hired killer, and while he danced around outright answering why, Tony was able to make a guess. However, that wasn’t his focus right now. Wade sat up a little straighter, muscles and body no longer tense, and not long after Wade is grinning his usual manic smile at his doctor.

“Thanks, doc’,” Wilson says with a tired grin, sitting back against his bed and Tony returns the smile. “You’re like a magician, you know that?”

“Happy to help, Wade,” Tony answers with a smile, moving to stand and curses his ageing body when his knees protest and click. Wade snorts a laugh, and Tony can’t help a little chuckle of his own.

There’s a short lull of silence between them while Tony looks over Wade for a moment to ensure his patient would be okay, satisfied he’s about to leave when Wade speaks, “you really care about us.”

It isn't a question, but Tony turns around to respond all the same, “of course I do, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Wade is silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his usually excited face, “you’re too good for this place, doc’…just- be careful, okay?” Something about the way Wade says the simple words don’t sit right with Tony, despite the levity in his tone as he continues, “I like you and…and I don’t want some fucker to hurt you. I mean…I need you, doc’, like peanut butter needs jam, who else would put up with me and my boxes?”

“I’ll be careful Wade, don’t worry, okay?” Tony manages a slight smile, wanting to ask Wade why he felt the need to warn Tony, but he could see the exhaustion on the man’s face and decides not to press. “Get some sleep, I don't want you napping in our session tomorrow, _again,”_ he adds the last bit playfully, feeling his own shoulders relax a little when the man barks a laugh if a little tiredly; it unattractive and so very _Wade_ that Tony feels his smile become a little more genuine.

“Sir yes sir, g’night boss,” Wade heaves himself off the floor, before promptly throwing himself onto the bed and curling up under the strewn about blanket - it wasn’t a hospital-issued one, but one that had been gifted to Wade from someone on the outside, _someone he loves talking about but never naming,_ Tony thinks with a slight smile.

“Good night, Wade,” Tony says before exiting the room and locking the door behind him, he slows down when he sees a redheaded orderly approaching. “Nurse Rushman?”

“Nancy, please,” the petite woman smiles warmly and Tony wonders if she’s new, he hadn’t seen her around before, “how can I help you, Dr. Stark?”

“Tony, please. I’m about to head out actually, but could you do me a favour?” the woman nods for him to continue, “in my office, there’s a fleece burgundy blanket, would you mind giving it to Mr. Wilson? It’s a relatively small square, nothing large or long enough that he can harm himself with, but the soft texture should help calm him down.”

The nurse stares at him for a moment, and Tony worries he’ll have to press his position as a doctor - which is shitty, he knows, but he _has_ to get to the records room _asap -_ but instead, nurse Nancy nods. Something unspoken lingers behind forest-green eyes, but without a word or backward glance the woman heads the way he’d come. Maybe she was confused about where his office was? It doesn’t matter, she seems to have figured it out. However, Tony watches the nurse for a moment, something tingling on the back of his neck telling him he’d _seen_ her somewhere before but where- _I don’t have time for this, it’s just déjà vu and you have to get those files back, so move your ass!_ and with that in mind, Tony continues back onto his original route.

Thankfully, there are no more distractions along the way and Tony pulls out his staff keycard to enter the records’ room. _This place needs some serious cleaning,_ is Tony’s usual first thought every time he visits the archive room. Bypassing the sign-in sheet on the vacant front desk as he’d done that morning, he heads towards the cabinet to place back Bucky’s files. Fury preferred to keep the copies patient’s files in analogue instead of digital, he claimed it was for security reasons, but Tony felt those reasons bordered more into the realm of paranoia if anything. Tony was a futurist, but in moments like these he was thankful SHIELD decided to remain old-school with their documentation, despite the usual headache it causes him almost daily.

Tony places Barnes’ files back in their rightful place. Hopefully no one had noticed their absence, but there wouldn’t really _be_ a reason to revisit a patient’s file unless they were going back to trial or under review, and Barnes was - technically - doing neither. _You’re being paranoid, no one would have noticed they were gone._ Sliding the metallic filing drawer shut as quietly as possible, Tony gives himself a moment before turning to leave, and damn near _shits_ himself when he runs straight into a sold…chest? _Oh fuck_. Tony leaps back, only to have the filing cabinet’s sharp edge ram into his spine. Biting back a wince and yelp of pain, Tony looks up at the orderly who smirks down at him, _bastard._

“Christ, Rumlow, a warning wouldn’t be so bad,” Tony huffs, glaring up at the orderly.

The man remains silent for a moment, his smirk morphing into an unsettling scowl as he continues to stare down at Tony, “some late night reading, doc’?”

Something twists nauseatingly in Tony’s gut right then, sitting uneasy and cold in the pit of his stomach, “yeah…no rest for the wicked, right?”

Rumlow hums, eyes flicking over Tony’s shoulder to the filing cabinet for a moment before stepping forward into Tony’s space, far enough that the physician is forced to take a step back. Knocking into the cabinet and making it rattle, Tony _does_ wince this time, feeling the sharp edge digging painfully into the same tender spot on his back. Tony does _not_ jump at the sound, though it’s a close thing.

“Maybe some ‘reading' is better left alone, don’t you think, _doc’?”_ There’s something in his voice, in the hushed baritone that sends a chilling shiver down Tony’s spine. He feels a cold sweat breaking out across his skin, and swallows thickly - immediately, Tony wants to smack himself for the telling nervous action. However, it’s right then that Wade’s words choose to come to life in his mind, and all at once the silence around him and Rumlow becomes far more oppressive than it had been seconds ago. Tony forces a nonchalant grin onto his face, trying to play off just how fucking _scared_ he suddenly feels, and pats Rumlow’s chest with what he hopes comes across as airy indifference.

“Yeah,” is all he can come up with, cursing his nerves but doesn’t waste another moment and he steps around the gargantuan man, “see ya tomorrow, pal.”

“Tomorrow, Dr. Stark.”

If Tony walks a bit faster than he normally would, well, that’s just because he hates silence. Wade’s words from earlier still rattle around in his tired - _terrified -_ mind; ‘ _be careful, okay?’_ and for the first time since all this started, it isn’t Tony’s logic that tells him he’s in way over his head, but his _fear._ Tony doesn’t remember getting home that night, but he somehow managed. And the next day, after restless curiosity gets the better of him, he returns to the records room during his lunch break. Making his way over to the very same filing cabinet as he had last night, and he doesn’t know how to feel when he realizes that James Barnes's files are missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! We're finally getting to a turning point in the story, and I'm excited to see and show you where it goes from here! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter and THANK YOU for supporting this story, I love hearing from you all! I hope to see you again at the next one!! xxoxoo


	6. All In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds a possible lead and Steve needs a friend...

Its been a week since he’d last heard from or spoken to Steve that’s-my-boyfriend-you’re-secretly-pining-after Rogers, and all the while to say Tony couldn't sleep would have been an understatement. Tony was lucky if he’d get two hours of rest before his alarm was all but screaming at him to rise again. His mind was running a mile a _second_ with thoughts ranging from the encounter with Barnes in his office and Nancy Drew session with Rogers, to Rumlow all but cornering him in the records room. And Tony didn’t think the little roadrunner of his guilty psyche would be slowing any time soon.

 _What was Rumlow doing there so late?_ Well, what were _you_ doing there so late? _How can I face Barnes again after our last session?_ Would he tell Steve what happened between them? _Why can’t I stop thinking about Rogers’ smile?_ The questions were endless, relentless as they ran rampant and destructive in his mind, and Tony’s _sanity_ was nearing its end because of it all. _I need a fucking drink,_ finally, an idea his psyche _didn’t_ argue. Throwing off his bedsheets, Tony blunders tiredly into his kitchen, sifting through empty liquor bottles until finding a half-empty bottle of cheap dime-store vodka and decides to call it a win. Snatching the container from the cabinet, Tony taking a long pull right from the bottle - he was classy like that, _wouldn’t dad be proud?_ Tony snorts so hard at the thought he nearly chokes on the bitter liquid which would _not_ have been a fun time, and throws himself onto his small living room couch after a brief coughing fit.

The past week has been irking Tony, in more ways than one. For starters, Rumlow was always inconspicuously missing from his usual posts, though the sign-in sheet always read he was on-duty when he was supposed to be. He was even seen around the institute, though _Tony_ hadn’t come across him since their little run-in with each other in the record’s room. _The records went missing, Barnes’ records,_ which was another, far more worrying realization. He’d checked the records’ room multiple times over the past week, hoping the case file would somehow saunter back into the filing cabinets when he wasn’t looking; they hadn’t. _What if…what if someone knows we’re looking into Bucky’s case?_ the thought leaves a pooling of dread in his gut, though for what specific reason he doesn’t know - or perhaps, knows of far too _many_ reasons.

Tony lurches forward and snatches up his car keys from his coffee table, he ignores the way his trembling hand makes them clink together. Holding up the several attached keys and chains up to eye-level, he stares at the USB that hangs in between his apartment and storage unit keys; the small device containing everything he had on Barnes, even his notes from his session with Steve. This was all that was left of Bucky’s file, as far as he knew, and thinks for a hysterical moment that _it’s against SHIELD protocol to store patient information in personal devices_ , but scoffs a second later, what was one more crossed line? _I seem to have a knack for it._ His mother would be turning in her grave.

Tony grasps the keys and takes another swig from the bottle in his hands as he moves to stand, _nowhere_ near _as drunk as I need to be,_ he thinks and takes another long drink. Meandering over to his laptop that rested atop his desk, he all but falls onto the desk chair, _getting there, though_. _The house is a mess,_ Tony notes with a pause, tired eyes looking around the one-bedroom apartment, and wonders if the disarray is a metaphor for his life. He snorts, it’s loud, unbecoming and he can’t bring himself to care, _something would have to be on fire for a more accurate representation;_ as if in answer, Tony hears the shrill ring of his phone’s text alert. Snatching up his phone from beside his laptop, Tony winces at the screen’s brightness but recognized the unsaved number instantly.

 **_UNKNOWN - Today, 2:32 AM: Tony, it’s Steve, I’m so sorry to ask this but I need your address, I’ll explain later. Please._ ** ****

Tony thinks he should be more apprehensive that a near-perfect stranger was asking him where he lives. But with cheap liquor running through his vein leaving him loose and warm, and the guilt heavy in his chest, Tony finds himself typing in and sending off his address before he can think twice about it. Tossing the phone back onto the table, Tony leans back in his chair and scrubs a hand over his face before reaching out to open up his laptop. He watches it come to life, and stares for a moment at the stationary cursor hovering over his background image; it was a generic picture of a landscape, _Norway, maybe?_ Tony hated generic landscape imagery, if only because it was his father’s go-to décor for devices, but it was less painful than the picture of him and Pepper that had been his background for years before it. Anything else he’d tried just didn’t feel right, so generic pictures of Norway it was.

Opening up the browsing app he hesitates before typing in ‘ ** _Alexander Pierce_** _,’_ and almost inhales vodka up his nose in a lazy laugh when the first search result is just what he’s looking for: **_Alexander Goodwin Pierce, & Co. _**Tony clicks the company website link and gets to work trying to understand more about the man who’d put Bucky in his care. As much as he hated it admit it, Pierce was… _clean;_ pristine enough that the bastard could probably run for office without a single worry of a scandal creeping upon him. On the surface, anyway. Sure, having a nephew that was sent off to an institute for the criminally insane after a bloody crime _could_ be seen as a blot on Pierce’s - otherwise spotless - résumé, but with the right team he could spin it - with unfortunate ease - to come out as the sympathetic victim since he had been Bucky’s ‘target.’

Everything about him painted the man as the poster-child of ‘the American way,’ appearing to be the only businessman in America who didn’t have skeletons in their closet bite them in the ass or protestors rallying against him on their social medias for misconduct. _No matter how good his PR team was dad wouldn’t even_ dream _of going into the office with all his shit, and_ \- _wait a damn second._ Tony quickly opens a new tab with stumbling fingers, either too drunk or too slow to keep up with his racing mind but manages all the same after a few backspaces, typing in what his racing brain scrambled to know: **_Alexander Pierce + political campaign._** Every result that popped up was either related to Pierce is political opinions - _Republican, of course,_ Tony thought with a groan - or things he’d done for his community, but nothing about _actually_ running, _that doesn’t make it a non-possibility though…_

If Bucky really _was_ being set up, then whatever it was he knew about Pierce was terrible enough that the man would go great lengths to make sure it never got out - like setting Bucky up for murder. _And if he_ does _run for office, then what’s to say he wouldn’t want to make_ sure _his closet was clean of its skeletons?_

“Clean…by any means necessary,” Tony whispers to himself, swallowing thickly when a trickle of dread runs down his spine, “Bucky, what the hell did you know?” A loud banging on Tony’s door jolts him upright, hand spasming on the neck of his bottle and fumbles trying to catch the container, only to have a good glass-full spill down his front.

 _“Fuck,_ ” Tony hisses, quickly righting the bottle and slamming it down on his desk. He snatches up some dirtied takeout napkins from behind his laptop, helplessly trying to blot away the worst of the spill, but knew a lost battle when he saw one and tossed them back onto his desk.

The banging grew louder, more insistent, and Tony felt just about ready to scream in the face of whatever asshole thought to try to break down his door at ass-o-clock at night was a good idea. Maybe he was too drunk to register the possible danger because it only hits him when he’s already flung the barrier open… _shit what am I-_ well, to say he was surprised was just scratching the surface. At least it wasn’t some menacing stranger.

“Steve? What the hell are you doing-”

“Someone was in my house,” Steve blurts out as he rushes into Tony’s apartment, quickly slamming and locking the door behind him. He whips around to look out of the door’s spy-glass for good measure, and even Tony holds his breath while the blond peers out to the other side of his door. It’s only when Steve turns back and leans against the barrier with a heaved sigh that Tony breathes again, but the momentary fear Tony thought was over rushes back to him all at once.

Tony stares at the blond like he’d lost his mind, “I’m sorry, _what?”_

“I got home from a late commission at the studio…my apartment door was open,” Steve croaks out like he’d been running all over the place, _maybe he was,_ “I thought someone just broke in but…they were still in there.”

Tony kind of wanted to yell at him, because what if they _followed_ him? But…he knew fear made people do stupid things, like seek comfort with something - some _one -_ they already knew, and with Bucky locked up who else did Steve have? _Better people than me, surely,_ and yet…here he was.

“Why didn’t you call the cops?” Tony asks instead, reaching out to double-lock the door and slide on the chain, if only for his own peace of mind.

Steve opens his eyes to stare at Tony for a moment, looking at the man like _he’d_ lost his mind, “and say _what?_ ‘Hey officer, I think my boyfriend’s murderous megalomaniac of a step-father sent someone to our house?’ Also, how the hell am I supposed to know if _they_ aren’t being paid off by Pierce?”

Tony opened his mouth to argue that, _yes_ that would be a _start_ , but stops short when the rest of his words set-in. It sounded neurotic and paranoid to the extreme to hear, but…could he really blame Steve for his fears? His _own_ words echoing in his head; _by any means necessary._ Goddamn it, Tony felt like he was trapped in some conspiratorial thriller flick; shady businessmen? Check. Paid off law enforcement? Possible check. A murder set-up? Seeming to be a more and more likely check. If he sees _one_ suspicious-looking exchange of an envelope on a park bench between men wearing trench coats, Tony was checking _himself_ into a psychiatric ward.

Instead of arguing, Tony just sighs, “I guess you’ll be crashing here then, I take it?”

The blond looks unsure, embarrassed as though seeking refuge with Tony was rather rude and Tony couldn’t help but roll his eyes; _polite asshole._ Tony doesn’t know what it says about Steve that his first instinct was to come and find Tony, but he was too tired and too drunk to think about it. So in place of waiting for an answer or arguing about the merits of staying, Tony simply turns around and pulls off his - now cold - vodka-soaked shirt while gesturing to the living room couch.

“Couch is yours for as long as you want it.” Shuffling into his bedroom Tony tosses the soiled shirt into his hamper before snatching a new one from the floor, deeming it clean enough with a sniff-test he says over his shoulder in an afterthought, “sorry about the mess.”

Tony’s still pulling on his new - or at least, not vodka-soaked - shirt over his head when he walks back into the living room, “I don’t have much in way of food, so feel free to order, I think I have a few takeout- what are you doing?”

Steve’s sat at his desk, eyes scanning over the screen of Tony’s laptop for a moment longer before turning to look at him, “you were looking Pierce up.”

It wasn’t a question, but never let it be said Tony was good at context-clues.

“And that gives you the right to go through my laptop why?”

“You believe us,” it almost sounded like a question, but Tony knew better. His tone was painfully hopeful and Tony knew he’d need more liquor before he could crush that hope, so he does just that.

Marching up to Rogers, Tony snatches up the bottle by its slightly damp neck and takes a long pull before meeting the man’s eyes again. However, it seemed to be easier said than done, _so much for ‘liquid courage,’_ Tony thinks breathing out a long sigh. It was almost annoying, how blue Steve’s eyes were while he watched him. How endearing they seemed to be. Nothing like Bucky’s and yet _so much_ like Bucky’s. It was true that Tony claimed to be at arm’s-length with this whole thing, but… _who am I kidding anymore?_ Steve was here, in his _home_ for fear of his safety and Tony was _letting him stay,_ didn’t that say enough for how involved he _really_ was without having to spell it out?

“I think Pierce is planning to start a political campaign, and if my hunch is right, people tend to look into the nooks and crannies of politicians more so than they do businessmen,” Tony says instead, damning the blond’s Bambi eyes, and chooses to look down at the sloshing water-like liquid within the thick glass bottle instead.

“You think that’s why he went after Buck?”

 _‘Buck,’ of course his nickname has a nickname,_ Tony thinks with an inward twinge but manages to keep the wince from his face, “it seems plausible. But first, we have to find proof, otherwise, we’re no better than the people who called the Obamas lizard people.”

Steve nods with a resolute expression and Tony was a little surprised, if he was being honest; he’d expected more push-back, “fair enough. I spoke with Jess like you asked, she says she’ll look into Pierce’s books and his company’s books too, but I’ll ask her to check if there’s a possibility that he’d run for office, too.”

“Just like that?” Tony asks voice tinged with mild-disbelief.

“Just like that,” Steve reassures, moving to stand and- _holy fuck he’s close,_ “you stuck your neck out for Buck, Tony, believing you is the least I can do.”

Tony nods, once and takes a step back because his senses were so suddenly filled with _Steve_ that he felt far dizzier than what the liquor had done for him so far. _Get your head on straight, Stark, he’s your patient’s_ boyfriend _for fuck’s sake!_ Tony takes another unsteady step back, bringing the mouth of the bottle to his own lips before taking a swig, but his movements slow when Steve seems to be tracking him - _the bottle, he’s looking at the bottle, dumbass._

Tony thrusts out the bottle to the blond, who looks between him and the container, “sharing is caring and all that.”

Steve chuckles through his nose, it’s a soft sound and takes the bottle, tipping his head back to take a rather large drink of his own, _looks like I’m not the only one who needed a drink tonight._ The duo shuffles over to Tony’s couch, Steve taking sips of vodka as they sit in silence, his winces tapering off the more the liquor took effect. Tony looks over to the blond who stares down at the near-empty bottle in his hands, Steve’s normally - or at least, normal from what Tony’s observed - expressive face was blank. Tony wasn’t good with emotions, never was, which was ironic given his profession but still felt for the man beside him. Steve had been through the shit, from having his boyfriend ripped away for something he - very possibly - hadn’t done, to having a stranger break into his home. _He probably needs the drink more than I do,_ he thinks, waving off Steve's offer when he holds out the bottle for him.

“You alright?” Tony asks, extending an olive branch, and watches as Steve drains the last of the vodka before sighing tiredly - something that sounded deep, deeper than just from his chest but his _soul._

“I…” the man trails, jaw and throat working against each other for a moment, before his brows crease and chin began to tremble. “No,” and it sounds so small, even _smaller_ and painful beyond the simple word when coming from a man like Steve.

Tony moves before he can even really think about it, wrapping his arms around broad, trembling shoulders. He doesn’t even need to nudge the large blond for the man to tip in his direction, the empty vodka bottle was forgotten with a muffled _thump_ on the floor. Steve’s torso lands on Tony’s lap, arms wrapping around Tony’s waist while his chest heaves wet, gasping breaths. Each gasped cry coming out more choked and broken than the last, and Tony just… _holds_ him. Running a hand through his hair, and the other in circles along his flank. Something about the way Steve cries tells Tony that this was the first time the man _did_ cry, and it twists something suffocating and cold within Tony’s chest to think it. It breaks his heart to realize that Steve had been doing his best to stay strong for himself and Bucky, with no one to be strong for _him._

“Why…why is this _happening_ to us?” Steve’s voice is strangled between rage, sadness and loss, and Tony feels his own eyes misting for the man. “ _Why?!”_

“I don’t know, Steve,” Tony croaks out with a shaky voice, wishing he had a better answer and holds Steve tighter as an apology. “I…I just don’t know, I’m sorry.”

Tony wants to whisper reassurances to the man in his arms, wants to tell him it’ll all be okay, but how can he when _he_ doesn’t know? Steve didn’t need any more lies or false hope, and Tony wouldn’t add on to the ones he was already given. Tony remains silent, after that. Doesn’t care that Steve’s weight on him was slowly numbing his legs, or that he was wetting the abdomen of his shirt. Instead he holds the man, and for the first time in years prays to a deity he didn’t even really believe in that it all _would_ be okay. That Steve and Bucky _would_ make it out of this on the other side, together. _Where does that leave you?_ Tony glances down at the blond in his lap, at the man who heaves a cry like it hurts him while clutching onto Tony like a lifeline, and finds himself at a loss.

 _I think I knew I wouldn’t make it out of this unscathed,_ his hazy eyes watch as exhaustion slowly begins to catch up with Steve, who falls asleep bent over Tony’s lap after a while and feels his heart twist, _but maybe this time, the pain will be worth it._

Later, Tony would wake groggy, disoriented and unable to remember when he’d fallen asleep. Steve would be pass out atop him, and with the practiced ease of someone who had snuck out of beds before, Tony escapes back to his own bedroom. However, what he _does_ remember is saving Steve’s name in his phone, the thought of the depersonalization of an unregistered number - the number of a man he’d _cried_ with - now turning his stomach.

 _You’re all in now, Stark,_ his mind whispers, as Steve’s name stares back at him from the dimmed screen, but the real question was, “when wasn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! I'm SO sorry for the delay with this chapter, I was trying to figure out where to go with this story and I think I finally have it down! Yay! Thank you all again so friggin' much for your support, I love hearing from you and your thoughts about the story, it makes my day! I hope to see y'all at the next chapter! xxoxoo


	7. Get Out

Bucky closes his eyes, head lolling back as thin streams of the sun between the clouds warms his face, a cool breeze gently blowing by. The slow gathering clouds hanging overhead felt like a foreshadowing of things to come, but Bucky shrugs off the idea. _This place is getting to you, Barnes,_ he thinks with a tired huff, don’t _be so paranoid_. Bucky lifts his head up enough to take a sip of his lukewarm coffee from the paper cup hanging loosely between his fingers. Perhaps likening it more to swamp water than actual coffee would have been closer to the truth, but in this place, he’d take what he could get. His hands itch for a cigarette, body giving a dull ache with its craving for nicotine but Bucky had promised himself he’d quit. Steve always hated his nasty habit but never stopped him, and now was as good a time as any to quit. After all, what else was he doing? A body all but falls onto the bench beside him just as Bucky was debating grabbing a quick snack before his session with Tony, the force of it yanking Bucky from his - rare - moment of serenity. He already feels his irritation bubbling to the surface and he locks eyes with- _oh are you fuckin’ kidding me with this?_

“I see the way you look at him,” Ward says the words like a spurned lover while scanning the yard for any nearby orderlies, finding none he turns dark eyes to Bucky.

“And who, exactly, is ‘he’?” Bucky knows _exactly_ who Ward is talking about, but something in him needs to _hear_ it - hear it beyond Wade’s accusations. His lax hands still itch, but now for a whole new reason, and wonders how many hits he’d be able to get in before they were pulled apart.

“Don’t give me that, Barnes, you’re smarter than that. He’s beautiful though, isn’t he?” his tone changes to one of amicable friendliness, like talking to an old friend. Somehow, it only works to put Bucky more on edge. Ward leans back against the bench, slouching and spreading out in his seat, his outstretched arm on the back of the chair almost touching Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky almost _wants_ Ward to touch him, anything to give him the excuse to punch him right in the damn throat.

“Not a night goes by now that I don’t imagine what he’d look like under me, writhing around and moaning…I’m sure he sounds damn gorgeous. Bet he bleeds just as pretty, too.” Bucky’s need to attack the insane man warps into a tendril of cold fear. He stills, his breathing paused in his lungs, and can only stare in wide-eyed shock at his words.

“ _Fuck,”_ Ward hisses, the man’s sweats and splayed knees doing nothing to mask what Bucky _knows_ is playing in his head, “I could make beg _so_ beautifully, make him perfect, even.”

“What the _fuck-”'_

Ward’s dark eyes open to meet Bucky’s stunned gaze and smirks, “he’s mine, Barnes. Get that through your head, if you know what’s good for you.” Pushing off the bench to wander away, he pauses to throw one last remark over his shoulder, “he’ll know too, soon enough.”

“Barnes?” The new voice makes Bucky jump, head snapping up to see Coulson who stares down at him in…sympathy? “It’s time for your session.”

He nods numbly, following behind Coulson with Ward’s words on a loop in his head. Did Tony know about the man’s fixation on him? And what was that last part about? ‘ _He’ll know soon enough,’_ Ward’s words repeat themselves over and over and _over_ in Bucky’s head, and knows he must look like a mess, but how could he not? Over their time together, Bucky’s grown to… _care_ for Tony. And in the privacy of his own mind he can admit his fondness of the man has only grown since their first meeting, moving well past ‘care.’ It wasn't because of Tony’s willingness to help Bucky and Steve- shit, _Steve,_ what would Steve think about all this? He must have at least thought of Tony as an _acquaintance_ if he was willing to accept the man’s help, right? Bucky knew his boyfriend well enough to know Steve never wanted harm to befall innocent people, and Tony _was_ innocent in all of this - maybe even the _only_ innocent one.

“Don’t let whatever Ward said get to you,” Bucky’s scrambling brain stumbles at the voice, turning to look at the orderly at his side, who watches him with a warm expression - it's almost comforting. “Grant does his best to mess with people, so whatever he said to you, just ignore it.”

 _He’s a crazy asshole, Bucky, Tony’s safe,_ he tells himself, and nods at Coulson with a slight smile, grateful for the reassuring words even if he can’t shake the dread still trickling down his insides for the life of him.

Bucky enters Tony’s office to find the doctor’s back to him and all once that dread in Bucky’s stomach turns on itself, becoming bitter and acrid in his throat when something just felt _off_ in the room. _Something’s wrong,_ Bucky swallows thickly at the thought and feels a little more trapped when the orderly closes the door behind him. Tony turns to face him then, the silence surrounding them defining and the distance felt farther than a simple few feet. Bucky’s insides twist almost painfully when he sees the blank, haggard expression on Tony’s usually warm and inviting face. The darkened skin under his usually bright and curious eyes tells him he, at the very least, hasn’t been sleeping well - if at all. His messy hair makes Bucky want to run a hand through it to tame the wild locks because this disarray was genuine, and not the endearing artfully done bed-head Tony usually wore. Bucky takes a step forward, hand halfway stretched out to reach for the doctor who he’d begun to consider a friend, even if ‘friend’ barely scratched the surface of the complicated things Tony’s presence alone did to his heart.

“If you’d take a seat, Mr. Barnes,” Tony gestures to the worn but comfortable sofa that has become Bucky’s second home since coming to this place, and he almost does until Tony’s tone makes him hesitate, “we’ll begin in a moment.”

Tony’s words and voice were impersonal and clipped, holding none of the warmth from their last session (or any session, really), and Bucky feels his chest seize. But he moves to the sofa all the same, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the man who won’t meet his, “Tony, what’s wrong-”

“We can either begin by continuing with what we spoke about in our last session,” Tony cuts in while taking the seat across from him. While Bucky _did_ want to continue their last discussion, he couldn’t really bring himself to focus on it when Tony was actively keeping him at arm’s length without understanding _why._ “Or I can tell you why Steve’s living with me, the choice is yours.”

“ _What?”_ Bucky blurts out far louder than he’d intended, but that definitely was _not_ what he’d been expecting to hear from Tony. The dread in his stomach roils, coiling around his heart and lungs and Bucky feels himself gasping with it.

“The latter to start, then,” Tony sets his clipboard onto the armrest of his chair, pen remaining in between his middle and index while the restless fingers tapped it against his knee. The rapid taps almost as fast as Bucky's pounding heart. “Steve said that after working late he got home to find someone already there-

“Someone was in our _house?!”_ Bucky cries out, outraged and, quite frankly, _terrified_ that something would happen to his boyfriend. To _Tony_ now that he was involved, was Steve safe with him? Were _they_ safe together at Tony’s place? _What have I brought them into?_

Tony waits out Bucky’s panic for a moment, likely watching to ensure he wasn’t headed for an anxiety attack. Waiting to make sure he was properly listening before continuing on. At least now, his otherwise blank expression was edged with hints of worry and empathy about the information, and though Bucky couldn’t see fear, he knew it was there, too. Tony cared too much not to be fearful for their safety; for his _own_ safety, if nothing else. The pen tapping at his knee got faster, a little more erratic.

“He texted me before coming over. We both decided it'd be best for him to stay with me for the time being…safety in numbers if nothing else,” Bucky waits for more, his stomach twisting, because what if something _had_ happened? What if Tony hadn’t been there for Steve? _What if Pierce got to him? To_ them?! _What if-_

“He’s okay, Bucky, I promise,” Tony cuts into his thoughts with a voice that was far kinder, _warmer_ than the tone he’d begun with, and Bucky feels himself calming a little because of it. “Is Steve tired and freaked out? Yes, but he’s okay and unharmed, I swear.”

Bucky nods, sitting back in his chair and relieved to find his heart still beating when he’d thought it had stopped for a few seconds there. But then something else has him unsettled; _why’s Tony being so cold with me?_ Tony was still clearly helping him if he and Steve were now bunking it, so why the clipped tone earlier? _Why is he calling me ‘Barnes’ again?_

“What…what happens now?” Bucky asks, there was nothing he could for his boyfriend or Tony from within the institute walls, but what he _could_ do was try to figure out if this sudden rift between him and Tony was just in his head or if something had happened that Tony wasn’t telling him.

Tony shifts in his seat, whiskey eyes flicking around the room, but land on Bucky every so often in a poor imitation of the soft openness they used to hold for him in all their sessions. _How has Tony gotten this far in his career?_ he wonders, watching the man, _his eyes…they’re far too open to keep secrets._ Tony’s posture remains relaxed, despite the little shifts in position Bucky knows are because of his discomfort, the restlessness all but bursting at the smaller man’s seams. _Tony’s a fidgeter_ , Bucky notes, but it’s not a new realization. Tony always tended to fidget with something to some degree or another, - be it a pen, the subtle bounce of his leg, or the corner edge of his notes - but Tony squirmed and played with things more so when he was nervous or anxious. It was a ‘tell’ Bucky noticed. Whenever they were broaching a new topic, the man would fidget - though it would be subtle enough for regular patients to dismiss - and Bucky would notice every time. It was...endearing. However, this time what would have made Bucky try to stifle a smile before had him clutching at the armrest of his seat, an almost painful feeling curling in his gut.

“We keep working your case,” Tony answers without missing a beat, eyes cast down to the pen in between his index and middle fingers, it almost blurred with speed, “the objective hasn’t changed…if anything, the timeline’s moved up.”

“Alright…” Bucky nods, elbows braced on his thighs, hands wringing in thought and - honestly? - worry. “Alright, so…what do we do right now?”

“Right now we continue on with what was discussed in your last session,” Tony answers, picking his clipboard back up, “do you recall what we talked about?”

“We were talking about… _that_ night,” Bucky runs a hand over his face, voice coming out slightly muffled as he adds, “the one that landed me here.”

This wasn’t the first time they’d discussed _that_ night and it likely wouldn’t be the last, but ever since Tony’s hypnotherapy, there had just been… _more_ to remember - more than Bucky _wanted_ to remember, honestly - and can’t help but bristle at the subject. Bucky could hardly say he was thrilled to revisit the topic, and why would he be? It was the night that all but destroyed his and Steve’s lives, and even after everything they’d been through, it _still_ wasn’t over - not by a long shot. However, it was their only choice of getting him out of here, so he just had to grin and bear it.

“Even after last time it’s all still…a bit fuzzy,” Tony nods in understanding, noting something down before continuing to silently tap the pen against his knee; its speed hasn’t slowed. _Why’s he so nervous?_

“In our last session, you said ‘I found out a secret’ and ‘people were gonna get hurt,’ do you remember what you’d found out?”

Bucky’s teeth dig into his lower lip, hands wringing together between his knees. Tony’s voice is calm and gentle, prompting but not demanding. Bucky knew he could waste whatever remained of their hour blabbering on about his craving for ice cream after so long without it, but the truth was he didn’t _want_ to - and yet, even knowing he didn’t _have_ to speak…it still put Bucky on edge. This was it, the leap of faith to find out if Tony really was in Pierce's pocket or not, because for all they’d spoken about and did before this, _this_ was the reason everything - every damn _life-ruining thing_ \- began; _leap of faith time, Barnes,_ Bucky thinks to himself before taking a deep breath.

“Pierce has a lot of companies, different in what all of them do…fingers in a lotta pies, and all that.” Bucky starts with a sigh, eyes flicking up to meet Tony’s gaze as he steels his resolve, “a lot of them are shady, but…but the one that takes the cake is Alexander’s weapons business. I found out that he’s dealing under the table and people are dying because of it.”

Bucky looks for any flinch or wince, any kind of tell that will betray Tony’s loyalties to Pierce, and a part of Bucky even thinks the office doors will burst open any minute with Pierce’s goons to drag him away. This was his death knell. The moment of truth. However, all he sees is Tony’s…shock. Wide-eyed, genuine _shock_ , horror even but _not_ disbelief _._ Tony believed him, really _was_ with them in this, but the fear paling Tony’s face held a heavier story than Bucky thinks he was aware of.

“Tony?”

“Pierce had weapons contracts with SI- with Stark Industries,” he starts but is speaking more to himself than Bucky, “maybe even still does, but my dad wouldn’t…shit. _Shit!_ Are you- are you _sure?”_

Bucky nods, brows creased in confusion, but he knows about the dealings for a fact; Peggy wouldn’t lie about something like that. “I agreed to the meeting with Pierce for more than just to confront him, my fr- _contact_ within his company tipped me off. I was there to steal a file, get evidence about it but…well, you know what happened. Someone must have tipped him off before I even got there because he was ready for me.”

“Who…who’s your contact?”

“Her name is…” Bucky swallows thickly, hands trembling ever so slightly. _Steve was going to kill me_ , but if they were going to get out of this Tony needed to know the whole story. “Her name’s Margaret Carter, she goes by Peggy…Steve can put you into contact with her.”

Tony nods slowly as though still trying to process the information, the pen stops its frantic movements when he jots something down with clumsy, jerky motions before resuming its position and movements between his fingers. Tony was about to speak when he loses the grip of the pen, the object flying out of his grip and rolling onto the floor between them. Bucky stares at the pen for a moment, eyes drawn to the sharp tip of it, and something in his gut clenches. He thinks of Ward, of any of the hundreds of patients that wouldn’t hesitate to snatch up the pen and… _use_ it _against_ Tony. ‘ _Bet he bleeds just as pretty, too.’_ Bucky’s palms start to sweat and tremble, though he can’t tell if it’s because of anger or fear for the man across from him - maybe it was both.

Before Tony can reach for the pen, Bucky’s on his knees and snatches it up. The man stills in surprise and Bucky feels his anger flare because of it, crowding the doctor in his seat. Tony’s back is firmly against the chair, staring down at Barnes with wide eyes. Bucky would die to decipher the storm of emotions that swirl behind his chocolate gaze, but he couldn’t see much past his fear right then. Fear of Tony slumped in this very chair, bleeding… _dead._ Death had been an abstract concept to Bucky until recently, and since that night at Pierce's house, he’d truly become aware of just how fragile humans really were. How quickly the vibrance of life could be snuffed out. Tony doesn’t fight him, doesn’t even push him away, and for all that Bucky _wants_ to be close to Tony his lack of resistance only to urges him on in his frantic emotions. Bucky clutches the damn pen in his fist, holding it between them.

“You’re careless, Tony,” he growls, inching forward just enough that they’re faces are only a scant breadth apart, and the brunet knows he shouldn’t do this - _knows_ how reckless it is, and yet finds himself obliterating the lines he’s already crossed. “Some here care for you,” his voice is low, but - surprisingly - not angry, “but not everyone here would be so kind, only because they _can_ be cruel. Please, _please_ remember that.”

Bucky can’t help but drink in the way Tony’s face doesn’t pale but _flushes,_ full lips parting and closing in an attempt to form words, but they seem to fail him anyway. The doctor’s whiskey eyes snap over to the pen Bucky holds between them. He swallows, throat working and a vicious part of Bucky wonders what the tendon would feel like under his tongue. _‘I’m sure he sounds damn gorgeous,’_ Ward’s words play again in his mind, and Bucky thinks, _I bet he does._

“Would you be…cruel?” Tony asks voice soft but torn between sadness and something Bucky can’t identify, as longing as it sounds.

“Never,” he breathes, eyes tracking the pen as he presses the tip of the pen against the psychiatrist’s collarbone, “but someone else, someone cruel, might want to see you _bleed_ with it.”

“Bucky…” Tony pleads, asking for something Bucky wants to give if the question truly is what it sounds like, and not what he wants it to be. Tony’s forearms tremble ever so slightly where his hands clutch at the arms of his chair, still making no move to try and fight his patient off. Bucky can’t help the pooling he feels in his gut at _wanting_ Tony to fight back if only to know what it would be like to overpower him, to pin him down - to _hold_ him.

“Stop, please,” Tony begs with closed eyes, the words are whispered, _pained_ and hit Bucky like a sucker punch.

 _What am I doing?_ Bucky comes back to reality with a feeling of being doused in cold and scalding water all at once. He jerks away from Tony, falling back on his ass to the floor. Staring up at Tony with wide, _scared_ eyes. He’d never...he’d _never_ meant to react that way, _fuckfuckfuck_ _FUCK!_ If Tony didn’t think he was insane before, then he was sure as _shit_ thinking Bucky was batshit _now_ _._ What the _hell_ had gotten into him? Bucky scrambles for words, an apology, _something_ to try and salvage any kind of trust or belief he may have gotten from Tony before his sudden outburst. He thinks of Tony’s coldness towards him at the beginning of their session together, what if he’s been pulling away? What if he didn’t believe Bucky anymore? The thoughts only make him want to reach out for Tony again, but this time he manages to control his urges - though it's a near thing.

“Tony I’m so, _so_ sorry I-”

“You really believe that?” Tony cuts in, his voice was rough, weak and Bucky feels it like a punch to the solar plexus when Tony won’t meet his eyes.

“Wh-What?” This time, Tony _does_ meet Bucky’s gaze, and the brunet feels pinned down by the intensity of it.

“You really believe that Pierce is dealing under the table?” it wasn't a question, and Bucky feels almost hysterical hearing it, but swallows thickly and nods anyway.

“Peggy would never lie to me,” and he believes that, but adds for good measure, “not about this.”

Tony stares at his patient for a couple of seconds, the silence drew taut and stifling between them before he stands, “we’re done for today.”

“Tony, I’m-”

“We’re _done_ for today, Mr. Barnes,” the finality in his tone silences Bucky, the use of his last name making him flinch despite himself, and the brunet felt like he was about to throw up.

“To-”

Tony doesn’t look at him, his closed eyes ensure that. But Bucky sees the way his jaw tenses, the way his throat moves as he swallows and the slight tremble in his chin as his brows crease, “please…just get _out_.”

Bucky leaves without argument, not before hearing something shatter to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you're all doing well, thank you SO much for your support with this story, your kudos and comments mean a lot to me! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! xxoxoo


	8. A Cad and a Coward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony buries himself deeper into the hole he's made...

Staring out at the empty parking lot, Tony wonders if going home is even worth it. His ‘safe space’ from the craziness of his job - from the _world_ \- was his apartment, and as small and shitty as it may be, it was still _his._ Now though…not so much. _That’s not fair_ , he doubted Rogers wanted to be there any more than Tony wanted him there, _but you_ do _want him there- oh christ SHUT UP!_ Great, now he couldn’t even retreat into his own _head_ without thoughts of Tweedledee and Tweedledum coming to guilt him every other second - and yes, that’s how Tony thought of Steve and Bucky (respectively) in his head, and he damn well _wouldn’t_ feel bad about it. Silently playing them off as annoyances in his head was the lesser evil.

Tony stares off into the distance but doesn’t really register anything beyond his own thoughts, as tumultuous as they were. He was in this with them, rather deeply, and there was no point in denying it when he’s already accepted that fact. His session with Bucky earlier still had him upset and confused beyond words, enough so that trying to work through them just makes Tony want to scream instead. But this close to the institute, he doubted it was a good idea. Leaning against the driver’s side door of his car Tony pulls out his phone, the last message was from Rogers, and the man’s name almost stares at him through the bright screen in the surrounding darkness. _May as well be a decent house-mother,_ he thinks while typing out a message to Steve before tucking away the device and getting into his car. The stereo immediately comes to life, picking up where it left off. Tony feels torn between switching off his stereo and giving in to the slow-building ache between his temples as the incandescent vocals of Eddie Vedder croon the lyrics to _Release._

_‘Oh, dear dad, can you see me now_

_I am myself, like you somehow…’_

Tony’s fists go white clutching at the worn rubber of the steering wheel, the lyrics strike a chord in the doctor, and can’t help the wet huff of laughter that escapes him at the coincidental nature of it all.

_‘I'll ride the wave where it takes me,_

_I'll hold the pain release me-’_

He skips the song when his eyes begin to burn, a faster, jaunty track taking its place. Tony wished, desperately, that he wasn’t alone right now. Ached for someone to talk to about the crazy situation he was in, and maybe even risk revealing the madness of his own thoughts and feelings. There was Bruce, sure, but Bruce would probably try to psychoanalyze him. And if he went to Rhodey, the man would likely berate his idiocy. They would be well within their rights to do both, and Tony knew it was because they cared, but he didn’t want either of those things right now. Tony kind of wished he was with Loki and Thor, funnily enough. Leaning forward Tony presses his forehead against the cool steering wheel, _how did I get myself into this cluster fuck?_ He asks himself for the millionth time, but that wasn’t the real question that had been lingering in his mind all day and Tony knew it. The fact of the matter was, _how did Bucky know he could trust me?_

If Steve thought the _police_ were in Pierce’s pockets, how the hell had he figured _Tony_ wasn’t? Sure, he most definitely was _not,_ but it was the principal of the thing. Hell, Tony was willing to bet Rumlow was somehow involved with Pierce just based on how the guy was acting, and _more poignantly, the fact that Barnes’ files went missing after he caught you with them._ That too. He’d have to speak with Steve, Bucky mentioned a woman named Peggy, maybe she had more information for him. However, another thought plagues his mind; _is dad dealing with Pierce?_ Sure, Howard Stark was a war profiteer and a cutthroat businessman that - in an ironic twist of fate - ended up with a pacifistic son, but he wasn’t a _monster._ Howard believed he was a patriot, first and foremost, and while Tony loathed his father’s weapons business, Howard strongly believed his weapons were on the side of good. But it’s been _years_ since he last saw his father, so was it really fair to think the man hadn’t changed since disowning him? Humans changed over time, Tony knew that more than most, and Howard was only human no matter how much he pretended otherwise.

Tony’s brain felt like it was pounding against his skull, leaning his head back against the headrest he closes his eyes for a moment and hopes the signs of an impending migraine would fade away instead of coming to fruition. But knowing his luck, he’d be locked in his darkened room before midnight. Tony was just about to pull out of his parking space when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket, pulling him away from his thoughts for a moment. Reaching for the device he stares down at the message.

**_Steve Rogers - Now: Mind picking up some eggs? You’re all out :)_ **

Tony can’t help but snort, the request feels so… _domestic._ He shakes the thought away, it was a fair request, Tony knew he was pretty shit at keeping his apartment properly stocked up like, well _, adults_ tended to. Shooting back a confirmation, and asking Steve to pick a place to order takeout, Tony pulls out of the parking lot and heads to the small corner store down the street from his apartment building. It was late enough that the streets weren’t too crowded but early enough that Mr. Delmar’s shop was still open, thankfully - Tony didn’t think the ache in his head could handle the hassle of a bigger market.

_I could really use a smoke,_ he thinks as he enters the small store. Waving a tired hello to Mr. Delmar, Tony heads towards the back and scans through the cold section. Tony wasn’t a regular smoker and usually tried to keep the bad habit of his to his little confessional moments with Loki. But given that right now he may be involved in a whole goddamn _conspiracy,_ he believed buying a pack of his own for the next few days was forgivable. It didn’t help that the knot from his session with Bucky earlier still hadn’t eased up, making him feel restless every time he stopped moving. Hell, Tony was pretty sure the serpent living in his gut coiled _tighter_ when Steve texted him - guilt was a fickle bitch that way.

The thought of _we almost kissed_ , trails through Tony’s head as he grabs a carton of eggs, but (as always) cynical sanity refutes, _no, Barnes threatened to stab_ _you._ Well, to be fair Tony thinks he’d be justified in doing so. At least, Tony certainly wouldn’t blame him if he did. Scrubbing a hand down his face, Tony slowly peruses through the small sweets shelf and snatches a packet of gummy worms off it. Sure…Bucky _could_ have very well plunged Tony’s pen into his gullet but he _didn’t,_ and that was the point of this all, wasn’t it? Bucky wasn’t some mad murderous monster. _Okay, fine, he’s not a murderer,_ another part of him argues, _but that doesn’t mean he’s a good person._ Tony wonders for a moment if Mr. Delmar would threaten him with the bat he knows is behind the counter if Tony suddenly ran back outside for a breather, but he manages to remain still and - somehow - standing as he breathes through his hectic thoughts. _And how do you figure that, asshole?_ in moments like these, Tony wondered if he was more Jekyll or Hyde and less Dr. Linda Martin, _wait, she fucked Lucifer in that show…bad example. Or is it an apt one? Oh for fuckssake-_

“You okay there, Tony?” A voice asks, and Tony turns to see Mr. Delmar staring at him with an expression torn between bemusement and worry.

“Yeah, yeah I just-…long day,” Tony manages to answer, and as scatterbrained as it sounded Mr. Delmar just looks at him with understanding.

“I get those,” Mr. Delmar waves him over, reaching for something from beneath the counter. Tony wonders if it’s the bat, and for a wild second, hopes the man uses it to _literally_ knock some sense into his jumbled head.

“Here, I usually snack on these when the neighbourhood kids are driving me a bit crazy,” Mr. Delmar holds out a…pixie stick. Tony almost laughs as he takes the offered miniature paper straw, “it ain’t good for you, but it’s a hell of a lot better than whatever it is going on in that big brain of yours.”

“Thanks, Mr. Delmar,” Tony smiles at the man as he sets down his items and the man begins to ring them up and bag them, once Tony gets the bag of his goods he grins at the older man. “Hey, if there’s ever a job opening here, I beg of you, consider my name.”

Mr. Delmar barks a laugh and nods, “best sandwiches in all of New York, think you can handle that responsibility?”

Tony smiles back, “I’d be honoured.”

The duo share a laugh before Tony walks back out to his car, tearing the tip off the pixie stick and tipping the sugary powder onto his tongue once he gets back into the driver’s seat. Tony was grateful for the momentary distraction Mr. Delmar provided him, but his thoughts and anxieties crowd back in the moment his car door cuts out the sounds of the city around him. He knew the respite wouldn’t last long, but he silently wishes it had for a few more minutes.

Bucky knew Steve was staying with Tony, and Tony _knew_ Barnes loved Rogers with his entire being (even the _blind_ could see that), so…what the hell was going on between them in their sessions? Because there was _something_ going on and… _he’s just lonely, Stark,_ yeah, that made sense - hell, _Tony_ could relate to that and he wasn’t the one locked up. Pulling the gearstick to drive,Tony sighs, _he’s just lonely, Tony, it’s nothing more than that. Plain and simple._

“Yeah, nothing more,” Tony off onto the road with the fine grains of sugar still dissolving on his tongue when he remembers, _besides, you have a house guest to feed._

* * *

Okay, so maybe Tony’s anxiety got the better of him on the way back to the apartment before he had the chance to turn in, choosing to overshoot it to the other side of the block to stop at a liquor store before finally heading back. But really, was there ever such a thing as _too much_ Maker’s Mark in a household? _Yes, read: an alcoholic’s house,_ shut up, it was Steve’s fault he’d run out, anyhow.

Tony finally enters his apartment, still tasting blueberry - or was it raspberry? - on his tongue as he tossed his keys into the bowl beside the door. It felt good to be back, even if the stress lining his shoulders didn’t ease as much as they usually did. Hanging up his jacket, he heads for the kitchen only to slow in his steps. Looking around the room Tony was met with…silence. _Where’s Steve?_

“Honey,” Tony calls out in a semi-whimsical tone, his steps continuing on their slow journey to the kitchen, slow-building anxiety trickling down his spine as he moved through the dimmed apartment, “I’m home?” Dread coils up in Tony’s gut, cold and sickening and- _where the fuck is Steve? Oh, fuck what if whoever broke into Steve’s house found out he was here and abducted him? Fuckfuckfuck FUCK!_ He was supposed to keep the man _safe,_ he’d _promised_ Bucky and now-

“Tony?” A familiar voice calls out, and Tony feels like an anvil lifts itself from his shoulders. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind, but I really needed a shower.”

Mind? Why would Tony mind? If anything, Steve should be worried that Tony was seriously considering leashing a bell to the guy to make _sure_ he was- Tony internal tirade stops dead when he turns from his spot at the kitchen entrance. He can’t make himself move any further, though his eyes _do_ and the treacherous bastards wander over his house guest - leered, Tony fucking _leered_ at Steve like some creep. Rogers stepped out of his bedroom, bare-chested and hair damp where he towels it off with a towel - oh lord, Tony was curious if that towel had dried anything _else_ off, lucky bastard. If Rogers hadn’t been wearing sweatpants - _my sweatpants,_ he realizes by the way they fit; snug, far _too_ snug on a tapered waist and sinfully thick thighs - Tony would have _sworn_ he’d accidentally walked onto a porno set because a body like that was just ridiculous and had no place in the lives of normal people. All at once, Tony felt like a bumbling, scrawny and awkward teenager in the boys’ locker room at high school again.

“I’m being Punk’d, aren’t I?” Tony blurts before he can stop himself, but his idiocy is a helpful thing when Steve raises an amused brow at him, which successfully snaps him out of his dumbfounded state. Tony quickly presses his fingers to his eyes, because lord knew he couldn’t look away, _this is just sad, I_ really _need to get laid, this can’t be normal._ “Sorry. Ignore me, long day,” he says by way of explanation, rubbing and pressing at his eyes until he sees nothing but the familiar static of phosphenes.

Steve’s chuckles are warm and settle on Tony’s ears gently, they almost feel relaxing to his senses. The man decides to take mercy on Tony because when he looks back Steve’s moved to snatch up a shirt from his duffle bag at the foot of the sofa. Tony manages to look away long enough to make it to the kitchen, only catching the tail-end of Steve tugging the shirt down his torso as he sets down the bag from Mr. Delmar’s shop. His back was to Tony giving him enough time to look away and pray he hadn’t made an utter fool of himself to Steve, because for as much as the blond set his mind and heart racing, Steve was a good guy who deserved better from Tony - he certainly deserved _far_ better than he was currently getting from him as is.

“How do you feel about pizza?” Rogers asks, moving past Tony to pick up a takeout menu from the scattered ones on his kitchen counter while Tony pulls out the bottle of Mark.

“Thoughts on Hawaiian?” Tony asks while reaching for a tumbler, grabbing a second at the last moment for Steve.

“Tony, don’t blaspheme,” Steve instantly fires back, making Tony laugh and feign disbelief.

“How dare you, it’s the perfect pizza!” Tony argues playfully, and for the first time since Mr. Delmar’s offer of the pixie stick, feels a little normal again.

“Okay fine, I like it, but don’t tell anyone,” Steve stage-whispers, leaning in just enough Tony feels his heart stutter a little, “they’ll think _I’m_ crazy.”

Tony plays off the display with a huffing laugh, pulling his phone from his pocket to call the pizzeria and place the order while Steve moves to place the eggs in his fridge. It was rather empty if he was being honest, maybe a trip to the actual supermarket _was_ due. Steve didn’t look like the type to live off of takeout. Tony cracks open the bottle of Mark and pour himself a couple of fingers, wiggling the bottle at Steve who nods in reply while he talks to the pizza joint down the road.

Leaving the tumbler for Steve, Tony snatches up his packet of smokes from the plastic bag and moves out onto the balcony of his apartment; it’s a small space, only able to fit a single vaulted table and two chairs, with enough room left over to stretch out one’s legs, but it was perfect for Tony. Ending the call after giving the pizzeria his address, Tony sits and slouches into a seat as he pulls out a cigarette. Maybe it was rude to be smoking with a guest over, but Tony really couldn’t find it in himself to care, right then. _The door’s closed, anyway,_ he reasons as he picks up the lighter he leaves on the small table beside an ashtray, the stout glass receptacle almost looked pristine from its lack of use.

The few, rare moments Tony would sit out here to smoke, he felt quite like a Hobbit in the Shire; everything felt simple, relaxed even, as he overlooked the city, even with the reality of the world waiting for him right outside his door. The tension he feels between his shoulder blades unknots just enough that breathing doesn’t feel as sharply painful as it had all day, and while tension still remained in his shoulders, Tony would take what he could get.

Reaching for his phone again while holding the butt of the cigarette in between his lips, Tony selects his favourite playlist for nights like these, settling in and letting the classic rock melodies wash his mind of their thoughts. Tony pulls the cigarette from his mouth and stares down at the lit cherry, raising the tumbler of whiskey to his lips. He drinks the sip of bourbon with a sigh, eyes falling shut and revels in the burn at the back of his throat and down his chest. Sitting out on his balcony, warmed by liquor and a comfortingly warm breeze, surrounded by the trill sounds of Smashing Pumpkin’s _1979,_ Tony can almost forget all his troubles; almost.

The sound of the sliding glass door meets Tony’s ears before a throat softly clears itself, peeking an eye open, Tony looks up from where his head’s arched back at Steve, “mind if I join you?”

“Sure,” Tony mumbles, sitting straight enough to take another sip of whiskey without it going up his nose, and rises his tumbler towards Steve in a lazy toast before the two take a drink in silence.

Tony and Steve sit in companionable quiet, Billy Corgan’s whispered vocals washing over them, and for a moment Tony genuinely feels at ease; no sense of paranoia making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge, no guilt eating away at him. Nothing, just…comfort. Tony knew he’d have to ask about whoever Peggy was, knew he’d have to put his game face on for whatever came next, but for right now? Tony wanted to be as carefree as a Hobbit, and by the looks of it, so did Steve. Tony chuckles softly at the thought, _Steve is more Elf-sized than Hobbit._ Tony grins lazily at the blond who sits beside him, wondering if he and Rogers would have ever been friends - ever even _met_ \- had things been different. A part of him is saddened to think not.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asks, his voice soft enough not to break the spell cast over the balcony.

“Thinking about how your more Elvish than Hobbit,” Tony replies, watching as confusion then amusement colours Steve’s classically handsome features before the two begin to laugh.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for the Hobbits though,” Steve says during a lull in their laughter, “pretty sure Bilbo was my first book-crush growing up,” Tony looks over at Steve as the man takes another sip of whiskey, “I was always a sucker for brave rule-breakers.”

Something about the statement sits wrong in Tony’s chest. He knew it was silly to make the comparison, but through all this Tony never felt brave, not even for a moment. He was a cad and a coward, and Steve shouldn’t ever think otherwise. Tony takes another deep inhale of his cigarette, talking through the cloud of smoke as he exhales.

“I got a pepperoni pizza, in case you were humouring me about the Hawaiian,” he starts, his voice far more nonchalant than he feels as he stares off at the city lights, “I asked what was the best middle-ground, and that’s what Jemma recommended.”

Steve nods, a relaxed smile ghosting his lips, and for as much as Tony loves the site of it he knows he needs to address the elephant in the room - or at least the one in his head. However, Tony knows he’ll need some more to drink before they delve into _that_ particular topic. Stubbing out his cigarette, Tony rises from his seat and heads back into the apartment, snatching the bottle off the kitchen counter before rejoining Steve. Refilling his glass, Tony raises the bottle in offering to Steve and tips it over to pour when the man nods.

“I had a session with Barnes today,” he begins amicably, feeling his chest twinge when Steve sits up at the mention of his boyfriend, Tony takes a long pull of liquor as he sits back down. “I…I know it’s unprofessional to ask, but-”

“You’ve crossed so many lines already, Tony,” Steve says in a playful but understanding tone, “what’s one more?” Something in Tony’s chest snares at the double meaning there, even if Steve hadn’t known it when he spoke the words. Tony wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, cry or do both, right then. Never in Tony’s life had he felt so _rotten_ as he did right then, but it was never too late for new experiences, apparently.

Tony takes a long drink of scotch to chase away the pain in his chest, lighting up a new cigarette before he speaks. So Tony tells him, tells him everything Barnes had told him from their first session recounting all this, to the one that morning. And continues telling Steve when they move back inside to have their pizza and more whiskey. Tony tells him about what Barnes remembers and what he doesn’t. At some points, Steve looks surprised, and at others…heartbroken. However, like the selfish coward he was, Tony hoarded some information to himself. He told himself it was to keep Steve from loathing him, and that was partly true. Tony didn’t want to know what it would feel like to have those open blue - so fucking _blue_ \- eyes glaring at him, but he knew that wasn’t entirely the reason he omitted certain things, either.

“He told you ‘bout Pegs?” Steve looks a little genuinely surprised, maybe a tad annoyed with the way his brows furrow, but doesn’t try to cover up the woman’s existence with an excuse.

“He did,” Tony nods, and…and maybe he’d had a bit too much to drink, _shit._ “Said you could put me into contact with her.”

Steve nods again, shifting enough to lift his hips and pull his cell from his back pocket as he reaches for their delivery receipt with the other hand, taking a stray pen from the table too. Steve’s expression of concentration is rather endearing as he copies down what Tony guesses is Peggy’s number, before handing Tony the thin slip of paper.

“Tell her who you are, she’ll know,” for a moment Tony wants to ask why, but doesn’t bother as he pockets the number, Peggy will likely clear that up for him too.

Instead, Tony sets down his empty tumbler and sits back in his seat, only aware of Steve watching him when his head lolls to the side in exhaustion. _I should head to bed soon,_ he thinks as he meets Steve’s glossy gaze. He watches Steve watch him, staring back listlessly as the man tips the final dredged of his drink down his throat, _wonder what he’s thinking._ Steve sets his own glass down after turning his eyes away from Tony down to it, brows knitted together in thought. Tony could tell he was working his way up to asking something, so he simply turns his head and stares at his ceiling and waits in silence.

“His safe place really was that Christmas at ma’s?” Steve finally asks, his voice soft, delicate almost. Like he couldn’t really believe his own words, and the sound of it almost breaks Tony’s heart.

“It was,” Tony replies just as softly over the quiet hum of his apartment, feeling a little dizzy when he turns to look at the blond, sure his stomach held more liquor than pizza at this point. “Was what kept ‘im grounded during the Hypno.”

Steve nods at this, slowly, a sad ghost of a smile playing at his lips. Tony can’t help but stare at the man’s profile, it was hard not to so close to him on the sofa, and maybe he shouldn’t have but Tony reaches out an arm to wrap around Steve’s shoulders in comfort. It was hard to watch him look so sad and do nothing about it, almost like leaving a puppy out in the rain; impossible to ignore. And after Steve crying to him about his situation not long ago, Tony hoped his comfort would keep the man from hitting such a low again.

“He’ll be okay, Steve,” Tony promises, but he isn’t sure exactly _which_ one of them he’s trying to comfort with those words, “it’ll all be okay.”

“I miss ‘im…I miss him so much, Tony,” Steve slouches against Tony’s side, his head turning to bury his face into the side of Tony's neck.

When he sniffs, Tony’s heart clenches at the fact it sounds a little wet, but the warmth of tears doesn’t dampen his skin, so he holds out hope. He wouldn’t begrudge Steve for crying, even if it would break his heart to see. Steve leans in a little closer, his arms moving to wrap around Tony’s torso and Tony hugs him back; comfort he could give, _wanted_ to give even, if it’s what Steve needed. However, when Steve nuzzles at his neck, Tony isn’t sure if he successfully represses the shiver that crawls down his spine at the feeling of his lips against his skin.

“You smell like ‘im,” Steve’s words almost draw themselves against the side of Tony’s skin, and suddenly everything feels hot _,_ “like cigarettes.”

The feel of Steve against him and the fanning of heated air against his skin just _too much_ and Tony _knows_ he fails to conceal a telling tremble when his breathing stutters at the feeling of lush lips against his tendons. Tony knows he should pull away, whatever inhibitions the alcohol _hadn’t_ dulled telling him _this is wrong,_ but Steve was just…he was goddamn _magnetic._ Maybe that was why Tony finds himself giving in to the kiss when Steve noses at his jaw, moving a hand to tilt Tony’s face towards his own. Tony clutches desperately onto Steve’s broad shoulders just as tightly as Steve grips his waist. Steve pushes forward for more, and Tony opens for him without the hesitation he knows he should feel.

They tip backwards, Tony groaning and relishing in the solid - _grounding -_ weight of Steve above him. Trembling hands sliding up into gold-spun locks of silk and grip, some part of him needing to know this was _real._ Steve’s hand clutch at Tony’s hips, almost bruising in its strength. Before long the other wanders higher to the flicked open buttons of Tony’s dress shirt, working to expose more and more of Tony’s flushed, overheated skin. It’s damn near _dizzying_ when Steve’s hips grind down against his own, their lust blindingly apparent to the other; their starvation for touch finally reaching its breaking point.

Tony arcs his neck when Steve’s lips leave him to kiss and lave at his jaw, throat and chest, and with his mouth free Tony hears himself moaning out rambled words in between Steve’s name. Steve’s mouth was goddamn _sin,_ a drug, and Tony wasn’t so strong as to deny he was already addicted to it - to _him_.

“Tony,” Steve groans, tongue and teeth worrying at Tony’s nipple to the point of maddeningly pleasurable pain, but Tony never wanted him to stop. Instead, rutting himself against the muscled thigh pressed between his legs.

His name on Steve’s tongue makes Tony’s chest seized, torn between arching into where the blond latches on to his pebbled nipple, and the almost suffocating sense of _wrong_ this all is; Steve wasn’t his, he was lonely and aching for _his boyfriend_ (for the love of his life) _,_ and Tony was the bastard who took advantage of that to abate his own loneliness.

_For once, just_ once _, do the right thing, Stark, and_ _stop this before it’s too late,_ for a moment, as Steve leans back up to kiss Tony, Tony wishes he were a more heartless man as he stares into Steve’s darkened, desperate blue eyes. But the thought of Barnes - of _Bucky_ \- hardens his resolve; he can’t do this, not to _them_. Perhaps Tony kisses back for longer than he should, but after a moment he _does_ press against Steve’s heaving chest and the man moves back without a fight.

Steve, hovering just inches above Tony, stares at the man with a mix of emotions in his lust-blown baby blues- they were almost black, now, _I did that,_ Tony thinks and doesn’t know if it makes him happy or sick to know. But Tony’s brain - his _heart -_ snags one of the many swirling emotions within them; regret.

Tony’s sure he wears the same expression.

Neither man says anything as they pull apart, slowly, as though something in this moment could shatter and tear them to pieces if they moved too fast. And Tony is sure the shame of it all eats away at Steve just as much as it does at him, if not worse. Clutching his shirt closed, suddenly feeling far too exposed. Tony moves to his feet. His eyes burn, but Tony tells himself it’s because he’s exhausted - in more ways than one. After all, he has no right to feel heartbroken…not over a man that wasn’t _his,_ to begin with. But the shame? Yeah, the shame was his to bear.

Tony retreats into his bedroom without a word, closing the door behind him and encases himself in darkness, leaning against the only barrier between him and Steve. He locks the door, knowing if he doesn’t, his weakness will have him running back into the arms of the man on the other side of it. He knows he doesn’t have _any_ right to feel the way he does, _knows_ he brought this all on himself, but as Tony slides onto the floor and buries his face in his hands, not for the first time, he can’t hold back the silent tears that burn down his cheeks.

_Oh God,_ Tony breathes deep, trying to swallow the sickly taste that taints the back of his tongue past the knot in his throat that threatens to choke him, _what have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for the delay, my poor cat had an allergic reaction to some medicine so I've been fussing over her instead of writing (poor floof looked like Brat Pitt from Fight Club), but thankfully she's doing better now and I hope this chapter made up for the lateness! Once again I just want to say thank you all SO MUCH for all your amazing support and comments and I hope to see y'all at the next chapter!! xxoxoo

**Author's Note:**

> Heya again! So I've been sitting on this story for a few years by now, to be honest. BUT I'm determined to finish it and get it out to all of you to enjoy, and I hope this first chapter has piqued your interest! I hope to see you back for the next chapter soon!!


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